Let's And Say We Didn't, Frederick Rodriguez
by Alfonsina.d
Summary: Frederick Rodriguez story.  Spoilers for Book 9 ... yes, I'm sure you've all read it.  Claude isn't who you think, but he'll be important. Freddy gets in touch with his inner alpha male - but not how you might expect it.  But that's the fun, isn't it?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own imagination. JE has the rights to all of the characters, but I have more fun with them.**

**Rating is for future situations and possibly language. **

**A/N: I have played with several MM and have decided to give Mr. Rodriguez his day in the sun. Right now there's not enough to declare every Friday to belong to Freddy – but some of them will.**

**If anyone wants to know what the inspiration for Frederick Rodriguez is, look up John Abraham – Bollywood Actor. He's very pretty and incredibly inspiring.**

**Harmne, Happy Pre-Birthday, babe. T and M, here's hoping this will kick start the muse on all levels … cause it's time for things to get fierce up in here.**

Let's And Say We Didn't 01  
Friday Belongs to Frederick Rodriguez  
by Alfonsina

Sunday night, 7:45 pm, Studio Apartment  
Near Downtown Trenton, NJ

"Sit still. I'm not done yet," 'Bardo' Frederick Rodriguez said, keeping a blush brush between his teeth and repositioning the eyeliner pencil behind his left ear. "If you keep squirming, this is going to take even longer than usual. Remember, tonight the goal is supposed to be classy, retro, and sophisticated not slutty and easy."

"Bardo, You're taking forever and I'm freezing in this robe. It isn't like I've got five o'clock shadow you're trying to cover," Caesar said as he pulled the flimsy, pink satin robe tighter around himself and wiggled on the stool in the bathroom.

Frederick didn't have anything warmer for Caesar to wear and the space heater was on the fritz, but he didn't think it was that big a deal in March. The oversized studio apartment Frederick lived in was well lighted but always drafty. It was somehow never the right. Moving fans and the constant opening and closing of windows was a small price to pay for his privacy, besides he was only ten minutes from Rangeman. He also liked the ability to have company whenever he wanted and no one looking over his shoulder asking questions or needing to make introductions.

"You're right, you did a great job of shaving tonight, especially your chest. Now lift your face so I can finish tweezing your eyebrows."

"No one is going to see them if you use enough foundation." Yes, they could. Caesar had a unibrow unless there was intervention on a regular basis, and foundation on that much hair looked like a beige caterpillar was growing over his eyes. It would have been easier to use wax, but Caesar's delicate skin stayed red for about three days after their first attempt. "Ouch."

"Please?"

"Fine, I'll sit still."

"Good. Now, lift your chin and tilt it to the right. That's it," Frederick said as he put a kabuki brush between his lips and he evaluated the makeup he'd just done. The foundation and basic makeup were complete, except for the eyes. Frederick loved the transformation makeup could make in a person's appearance, and as a result, their perceptions of themselves with just a little time and color application.

The target tonight was Oscar Alonzo, an arms dealer originally from Cuba. There were only two days left on the bond and Stephanie had been the lure the night before and the night before that. The skip didn't show when or where expected. No one realized Alonzo was gay and preferred to spend his time in the Liberty Ballroom with the transvestites. Stephanie didn't want to do a Victor/Victoria so Caesar was nominated. It didn't hurt that he enjoyed his drag persona, Julia.

After another forty-five minutes of fine tuning, blending, and touching up, Caesar was ready to complete the transformation. He pulled on a pair of boots, tight black skirt, short sleeved red shirt with a plunging V in the back, and short wig. He looked like a taller version of Rihanna, but his face wasn't quite so angelic and his eyes were coffee black.

"Don't we need to be on the road soon?" Caesar asked after looking at his watch for the fifth time in three minutes.

"We need to go in about fifteen minutes. You'll be done by then. After the distraction, we'll clean you up and put you in the sheath dress and long wig if you want to spend the evening with Peter."

"You know Peter and I broke up last week. Don't you ever listen to me? You should change so you can be my escort. Please?" he asked as he finished the final button on the skirt.

"I've got door duty tonight with Woody and Cal," Frederick said. He didn't have to transform for the job, he was already outfitted in the basic black uniform: cargos, shirt, windbreaker, and comfortable work boots. "Hector is going to be inside tonight watching over you. If you really want to make Peter jealous after we're done, I'll put other clothes in the back of the truck."

Frederick was Caesar's unrequited love, once upon a time. They'd been best friends in high school and been on the wrestling team. When they went to college, they roomed together all four years. Caesar forgave Frederick for being straight and Frederick had final approval on all of Caesar's boyfriends.

"I have more fun when it's you. Besides when you do your Eddie Izzard impersonation with the makeup, you stay just butch enough to be hot," Caesar said, flashing a smile. "Plus when you keep my mind off the fact that I'm not a pretty woman."

"You are pretty and I have a good time with you, too. Remember tonight neither of us are going to the Liberty to dance and have a good time, we're going to return scum to the justice system. Work is a higher priority than fun, you know that. If you want to look for better wigs next week, we'll do that. Okay?"

"Promise?"

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"No."

"Okay, now open your mouth. You've already got lipstick on your front teeth." Frederick took a tissue and daubed the red lipstick off the offending incisor.

9:30 pm Outside the Liberty Ballroom  
Trenton, NJ

"No f-ing way that was Caesar," Woody said. "I mean, I know it's Caesar, but it doesn't look like him and it didn't smell like him, either."

"Thanks," Frederick said. "I think it turned out pretty well. Once we're done, I've got to pump up the eye liner and change the lipstick to a frosted pink after he changes clothes."

"And that would be because?"

"He wants to make Peter jealous."

"And you're going to help?"

Frederick did his best attempt at curling his upper lip and said, "I don't mind. I've done it before and I'll do it again. Besides, if it's me, I know he won't take a stranger home."

"I think we've just stumbled into the realm of too much information."

"Besides, if he looks really good, maybe I'll get some new clients. I'm an Avon representative."

"You're an Avon Lady? I figured you more for a Mary Kay girl."

"Actually, I used to be. My grandmother wanted to give me her clients when she retired from it; Luisa got them and it was a good start for her business. As far as I'm concerned, Avon's got good quality and it's more affordable. And I don't have to worry about the pink Caddy in the Rangeman parking lot, the boss wouldn't be happy."

"Uh huh."

"I'll get you a catalog Monday at work, there might be something in there you can order your wife."

Before Woody could say anything else, Caesar was making his way out the door with the skip draped all over him like a bad rug. "I said no public displays of affection," he said, angling his head away from Alonzo.

"Just a peck?" Alonzo asked as he groped Caesar's ass. "I want to make sure you're worth the time."

Caesar kept stumbling away from the club's entrance. "How about I surprise you in the dark?"

"Okay."

They staggered three more feet when Frederick grabbed the perp from behind and wrestled him to the ground.

"Possessive boyfriend?" Alonzo slurred the words.

"Partner," Frederick ground out. "No means no, asshole."

After he was cuffed and shoved into the waiting SUV, Woody said, "I know you guys have plans. Hector and I have it from here. Have a good night."

"Thanks, man," Frederick said. He took Caesar by the elbow. "Walk into the light so I can see how much damage I'm going to have to fix before I change clothes."

"I don't think I want to torment Peter. There was a really hot guy in there that I'd like to get to know."

"No problem. Do you have you cell so I can pick you up later?"

"No. Come in, let's just hang out here. You don't have enough fun in your life. I can introduce you to Jeff, he'd be perfect for you. Or maybe you'd like Chris better."

"Overall, I'd rather meet a nice girl and it's not a great place to meet women," Frederick said with a shake of his head. "Don't get me wrong, I love hanging out with you, but I don't want to hook up with a guy for the night."

"You do know that a lot of women come to gay clubs to dance and have a good time without having to worry about some guy trying to get in their pants."

12:35 am Liberty Ballroom

"I'm calling it a night," Frederick said. "I've got the early shift."

"Come on, stay until closing. Then we can have breakfast. I haven't been out all night since Victor and I broke up. Please?" Caesar asked as he took another drag from his bottle of Bud. Victor was the boyfriend and love of Caesar's life six months ago.

"Fine. But next time we do this, it's a straight bar and you get to be the designated driver." Frederick was tired of always being the responsible one, not that he minded. Once in a while he wanted to let his short, honey-brown hair down and walk just a little on the wild side. He'd lived his whole life on the mild side and at twenty-six wanted to make sure he'd sewn at least a few oats.

"Deal. Now dance with me. I love this song." A slow, sultry number came over the speakers. It was non-descript in a hypnotic way.

"Only if I get to lead this time," Frederick said with a sigh. "You led the last three."

Caesar led him to the dance floor and placed his hands low on Frederick's waist. Every thirty seconds or so, Frederick would move hands that had found their way to his rear back to his waist. He knew what his sisters had meant when they talked about grabby guys, not that he was ever supposed to be privy to those conversations.

1:30 AM

At the edge of the dance floor there was a group of six women. Judging from their body language, they were feeling no pain. They might feel differently come morning.

"I told you, the ones with the hot bodies are always gay," the pack leader, Connie, said. Connie was about thirty-five, helmet of black hair, and built like Betty Boop. She'd been charged with taking her cousin Maria and her friends out for an engagement party. "See that one, the one in all black?"

Maria, the woman wearing the toilet paper tiara said, "I'd love to sink my teeth into that ass."

"Too young," said another.

"Nah, get them young enough to train and housebreak them," Connie said as she peered over her tumbler of ginger ale. "If they're too stubborn or difficult, set them free and someone else will adopt them."

"Girl, you keep a car seat available for your dates? Cause if that one isn't gay, he probably came in on a fake ID," chimed in someone else.

"Not a problem. I've got a car seat and I've even got things at home a boy like that can suck on."

"Eww."

"Yeah, well it isn't like I'm taking him home. Doesn't look like he bats for our team. We need to go. The place will be closing up soon and tomorrow is a work day," Connie said. She was long past bored and had been promised a Chipendale's type experience, not the Liberty Ballroom. Had she known, she would have worn more comfortable shoes, a bra that didn't heave her breasts up to her ears and a pair of pants that gave her room to breathe comfortably.

A/N: Thanks as always for reading and reviewing. Updates will be sporadic until the muse gets into a higher gear. This not a one shot, I promise.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Standard Disclaimers all apply and always will.  
The muse cooperated, some.

Let's And Say We Didn't 02  
Friday Belongs to Frederick Rodriguez  
by Alfonsina

"Man, you're wasting a perfectly good Saturday morning with this crap. Studies say you should never read these things," Caesar said, lips twitching.

"You're full of shit, JC," Frederick said, color rose in his cheeks.

"Seriously, read it and you'll only get depressed. No man can ever live up to the heroes in this kind of crap." He plucked the battered and torn paperback from Frederick's hand and studied the picture. A muscular man with exceptionally long hair stood behind a woman in a long tattered dress. He looked down on her with lust and she looked like she was in the throes of an orgasm by his very nearness. If this is what was inside the pages of the book, it was pathetic.

"Tell me again why I let you have a key to my place." Caesar had a key because Frederick lost his own on a regular basis and he didn't believe in hiding a key under a mat or flower pot.

"Because you love me?"

"Ah, no."

"Respect me?"

"Only in the mornings." Frederick sighed, "It's just that I've killed off everything at the library in the mystery and suspense section." He wasn't going to deny that he'd bought three grocery sacks full of romance novels at a garage sale, he just wasn't going to admit to it. Omission isn't a lie, is it?

"Bad pun. So why are you really reading this stuff?" Caesar tossed the book back to his friend. He plopped down on the far end of the sofa and pulled Frederick's feet onto his lap. "Tell the truth."

"I'm trying to expand my horizons and read more things by different authors and genres. Plus the more things you know about the more things you can talk about." Right. He was really hoping to learn something about what women wanted in a relationship. He hadn't learned much from the bodice rippers he'd read other than that he might do well to invest in a pirate costume for Halloween. He could transform himself the Dread Pirate Rodriguez. Then again, maybe not. "You aren't going to rub my feet are you? I hate it when you do that."

"I know which is why I like to do it. Fine, I won't rub, but it doesn't mean I won't play 'this little piggie' with your toes."

"Please. Exercise your foot fetish with your boyfriend."

"You don't ever let me have any fun with your body anymore."

"We never dated. We wrestled together in high school and in college." Frederick wanted to date Theresa Johnson the bombshell brainiack who was in all of his English classes for high school. She never noticed he was alive. She, on the other hand, had a huge crush on the head of the football team. It was the story of his life, the girl he wanted usually wanted someone or something else. By the time he got to college, he was more worried about his classes than girls. Later, he was all about working as much as he could to pay down his student loans. Now that he had more time and some money, he had no game. He'd either forgotten the rules or they'd changed.

"Anyway, getting back on task, I can lend you some books from the Dummies books I've got at home." Caesar's face split into a huge grin. "Magazines are good. You could read my old Martha Stewart or the Yoga Life, those would expand your world view and might make you more flexible. It would be too much to hope that you'd ever read Cosmo or Vogue." Caesar didn't do complex or difficult and if someone else had done the leg work, it was just fine with him. As a result, his personal bookshelf was full of the yellow and black books 'For Dummies' and cast offs from the office break room.

"I already read all your Dummies books unless you've got a batch of new ones. Besides, it's time that I learn a little something about romance isn't it?" He pulled his feet off Caesar's lap and stretched his back, arms overhead to work out some of the kinks. "I've only got thirty pages left before the hero finds out that the girl he loves moved into a convent to hide from the world and the man who could never love her back."

"You know how it's gonna end?"

"Sure. I've already read six others by the same author." He should have kept his mouth shut, because he had just provided Caesar with fodder for weeks. "She works a pretty specific formula. Think Clive Cussler or Tom Clancy but less action and more girlie stuff." And a lot of time on feelings, that was the whole point of reading damn romances.

"No books with sports themes? If you find some books with hot sweaty guys, I might read them after you're done with 'em." His lip twitched as he tried not to smile. "I do love hot sweaty men who know the right way to play with balls."

Frederick ignored the double entendre. "There's someone who's done some books on baseball and someone else who has a series with a football theme." Those books didn't appeal to him, he felt like he was on the sidelines. Sports were only interesting and fun if he was playing or coaching. He marked the page in the book and placed it on the coffee table.

"Just how long exactly has it been since you've gotten laid?" Caesar asked.

Frederick raised an eyebrow.

"Spit it out, Bardo."

"None of your damn business." It had been months and he hadn't met anyone who had interested him. Six months ago Janice dropped him like a bad habit. She wanted an exciting, glamorous life with someone footing the bills for her high priced shoe habit. He wanted to be married and have a couple of kids.

"That long? Sorry."

"Don't you remember our deal, JC? I don't ask you and you don't ask me." Some things were too personal to discuss even with his best friend.

"I'm willing to talk and maybe get you some pointers. I mean, Ted had this thing he did with his tongue-"

"I'm touched you want to share, Dr. Ruth, but we aren't going there, not now and not ever."

"Spoil sport."

"I need to go shopping for some clothes. Want to come with?"

"Buy me lunch and I'll go."

"Greek or Thai?" Frederick patted down his pockets looking for his keys and wallet.

"Greek. I love that spanky thing they have on the menu at Zorba's." Caesar pushed off the sofa and gave another look at the book cover. He shook his head, there was no reason Frederick's sex life had degenerated to trashy romance novels. He was going to have to find ways for him to meet what their mothers used to call 'nice girls'. And he needed to do it soon. It would have been so much easier if he thought Frederick would respond to some 'bad' girls or better still the 'bad' boys.

"Spanky?" Frederick retucked his shirt.

"You know, the spinach pie thing."

"Oh, spanakopita. Got it."

"I know what it's called. I just miss getting spanked once in a while."

"Thai food it is."

"Fine, but I'm driving. I hate your car." Before Frederick could say anything Caesar continued. "You drive a mom-mobile. If I get caught in it one more time, my dick is going to fall off and my voice will go up at least an octave."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for stopping by. The muse is a bit rusty but wanted to come out and play. Hopefully soon there will be a more dependable publishing schedule. Happy weekend to all. Alf.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Always the same. No profit, but lots of fun.**

**A/N: Since Freddy is shy and not good with women, looks like we are doing this twice a month. He actually has a lot to say, but he stumbles with the words.**

**M, R, T, S – you all know who you are – thanks for the support.**

_**Let's and Say We Didn't 03**_  
_**Friday Belongs to Frederick Rodriguez**_  
_**by Alfonsina**_

_A small moan escaped Nathalie Johansson's lips as the kiss deepened. She lost track of time and place. The only thing she knew was that she was in love with her playboy boss, Kyle Duncan, and she couldn't bring her body close enough to him. If this was her only chance to grab the brass ring, or his zipper, she was going to take it._

"_Are you sure about this, babe? We'll still have to work together after it's over." Her boss was making fast work undoing the buttons on her blouse._

_She moaned her agreement as she uncapped the bottle of peppermint flavored massage oil. There would be no repeat performance, at least not until he broke off his engagement with Lady Elizabeth Bennington and that was highly unlikely as she was the largest shareholder in his company._

_Nathalie was going to live for the moment and take what life offered with both hands. In this case, the substantial bulge in the front of Kyle's pants in one and the cinnamon flavored condom in the other._

~x~x~

Frederick had sworn to himself that he wouldn't read any more tawdry romances. He'd tried, really tried, to give them up. Unfortunately they were like potato chips, he couldn't stop with just one. He did restrict himself to no more than two per night for the slender tomes and only one a night if they were thicker.

If women actually bought into those books, he'd be single until the day he died. There was no the hot, exotic sports car in his driveway; he owned an old van. He hadn't been independently wealthy since he was fourteen; he earned a comfortable living, but he would always need to work. An orthodontist gave him a good smile. His body was in good shape, mostly because he was heavy as a kid and uncomfortable with his body. It was lucky that his family and friends didn't call him 'Gordo' (fatty) and called him 'Bardo' (poet) instead. When he was in middle school, he tried to write love poems to Carmela Fernandez and saved them all in an old shoe box under his bed because he never had the courage to give them to her. Luisa, the oldest of his three sisters, found the poems and taunted him about it. Fortunately, only the name stuck and Carmela never found out.

His _romance_ habit had gotten out of control when he stripped the cover off of a John Grisham novel and used it as camouflage to hide whatever his current book so no one was the wiser. It would have worked too, until he started trying to read when he was on the treadmill and he ripped it and exposed _The Playboy Pool Playshark and the Pregnant Publicity Agent_. Caesar busted him. Frederick had to promise to pay for a six months of massages from a new day spa to ensure his silence. Caesar was a damn narcissist. Just because he was going to go with Caesar meant nothing. He was going to go for quality control purposes and to make sure Caesar didn't pocket the money and use it on something else like a full body waxing.

He tried to change over to audio books because there were no covers to hide but found them even more distracting, especially when things got steamy. It was one thing to read something racy or sexy, something else entirely to listen to it. He felt like a voyeur and he was uncomfortable with that notion. It was time to make a change and start to read or listen to things that would enrich his mind. Right.

"Are you OK?" Roy asked as he helped Frederick up off the gym floor. "We should have maintenance look at that treadmill. It's the second time this week the tread has slipped and you've been thrown from it."

"I was my fault. I got distracted." Frederick said as he struggled to his feet. At least it was just the two of them in the gym this morning. "Maybe it's time to move back to the elliptical machine."

"What are you listening to on that thing anyway?" Roy indicated the MP3 player on the floor.

"Game theory." Technically Frederick was investigating graduate schools and game theory and advanced statistics were part of virtually all MBA programs so it was a plausible answer. Just because the book he downloaded, _Paula and the Devil May Care Billionaire,_ wasn't actually a game in the technical sense, he might still pick up a couple of pointers and add to his own theoretical knowledge.

"Must be good. Intense anyway."

Frederick said nothing. He took a sip of water to get his head back together. "I need to pay more attention to what I'm doing than what I'm listening to."

"Not great advice for the sales force, at least I've heard a good salesman is supposed to pretend to listen. Anyway Bardo, you still up for Boy's Night?" Roy asked. Several of the guys at the office got together the last Friday of the month to celebrate Boys' Night. They'd shoot pool, drink beer, and speculate on each other's love lives. The purpose was to blow off steam and not worry about being on good behavior. Those who had girlfriends or wives were put on notice that one Friday a month belonged to the guys.

"Of course. I look forward to it. How many this time?"

"The usual crowd, three maybe four."

"Perfect. I'll meet you at your place tonight around 7:30." He made a show of looking at his watch. "I need to get showered and deal with the day."

Today he had appointments with two prospects, follow up calls to three existing clients, and what seemed to be countless searches to be completed by the end of the day. Not that he minded but this was Friday and it was Boys' Night and that made it a sacred trust.

~x~x~

Frederick was greeted by a harried, buxom brunette trying to keep a little dog from escaping through the open door.

"Hey, Theresa." He leaned in and kissed Roy's wife on the cheek. "You look lovely."

"You're always the flatterer. Come on in. It's going to be a full house tonight and I baked peanut butter brownies just for you." She only made them when Frederick came over. The first time he had one, he ate half the pan. She knew that to keep a good babysitter, sometimes you had to salt the larder with food they liked. In the case of Frederick Rodriguez it meant anything chocolate, peanut butter, or butterscotch. "You know, we can get a regular baby sitter."

"It's not a bother. I look forward to it. Really." He missed his nieces and nephews back in Santa Fe, New Mexico. This was as close as he could come without hopping on a plane.

"Well, Sam's already had dinner and his bath. There are some teething rings in the freezer in case he gets fussy." At eight months, Sam alternated between drooling, grabbing anything within arm's reach, and biting. Before Roy got married, he'd seen Roy do precisely that at a gentlemen's club. It wasn't pretty then and it wasn't pretty now.

"Who else is here?"

"Just Cal's son, Timmy, and Brett's son, Kevin." All three boys were under age of two.

"Good. The more the merrier."

"I'm glad you feel that way. Because in about five months, there'll be one more."

"Who?" No one at work had talked about the possibility of a delivery from the stork for several months.

"Me," she said looking a little shy.

"Congratulations to you all." He drew her in for a gentle hug. Perfect, now he was envious not only of Roy's wife and baby but the entire pregnancy experience. It was seriously time to find a woman who wanted to settle down or he'd need to volunteer to rock babies at the NICU at the hospital.

"I'm having a brown paper bag party in two weeks. Do you want to come?"

"Sure. I'm your man. Anytime, anywhere, Theresa. Just call me with the details." He went to every product party any of the guys or their significant others held. He started having Pampered Chef parties right after college when several of his friends got married. He threw in catalogs for Sun Rider Foods and his Avon product line at the same time to make the most of the evenings. He was never a big fan of multi-level marketing, and he never excelled at it, but it did reduce the number of presents he had to scrounge for at the mall.

"Get one of your own," Roy said. He came behind his wife, baby boy resting on his shoulder.

"I can stay home, he should go with you. We are taking advantage of his good nature," Theresa said. She looked over her shoulder at her husband and son. "The girls will understand if I don't go tonight." Then again, when a free babysitter volunteered monthly to look after her son, Theresa wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"You wouldn't want to deprive me of drool and dirty diapers, would you?" Frederick asked.

"As long as you're sure."

"Positive."

"I'll be home early," she said. "No later than eleven." Eleven meant twelve but that was fine.

Roy gave her a quick kiss and sent her on her way.

"We really do appreciate this, man," Roy said. "So, you're going to another one of her product parties." It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact. "Sucker."

"Yeah, I know. This time it's brown bag. Whatever that is. I'll probably spend fifty bucks and send it to my mom. I didn't shop for her birthday yet." The first Pampered Chef party he threw no one bought anything. Then again it was with Caesar and a couple of their friends and none of them could even make a decent batch of Hamburger Helper. Since his night of financial humiliation, he made sure to buy something, anything, at those kinds of parties. It explained why he had an entire apartment of crystal votive holders, a hodge-podge of scented tea lights, kitchen gadgets that had never been used, food supplements he wouldn't use, and specialty skin products he'd never opened.

Frederick gave up Boys' Night about six months before when Roy couldn't find a babysitter and his wife was out of town. Frederick volunteered to watch the baby boy so Roy could get out of the house. Despite the fact Sam spat up on him twice and the innumerable diaper changes, Frederick had a good time that night. He volunteered for baby duty whenever needed, including the monthly Boys' Night.

The first night, Roy came home and found Frederick crashed on the sofa, baby asleep on Frederick's chest, soft music playing in the background, an empty baby bottle in his hand and smile on his face. Roy had found his wife, Theresa, in that same position innumerable times. Roy just never expected it from someone he thought of as a newbie.

~x~x~

Two weeks later, Frederick arrived at Roy's house for the brown paper bag party. The last time he'd been to a paper bag party, it was a White Elephant Party where everyone put an unloved or unwanted gift into a brown paper bag and through several games and exchanges everyone wound up with someone else's gift. It was how he came to own a framed copy of Irish Diplomacy for his desk. He wasn't Irish, but liked the reminder:

Irish Diplomacy

The Art of Telling a Man to go to Hell so that he' looks forward to the trip.

He bought a bag of lunch sacks at the grocery and filled one with his White Elephant gift, a series of the lesser romances in his collection, and some catalogs and two bottles of sparkling apple cider another. It wasn't much, but he seemed to be the only person he knew who took hostess gifts to these events. This was a White Elephant exchange of sorts, wasn't it? If worst came to worst, he could always stick the books in the break room at work and pretend no knowledge of them upon discovery.

As usual, he arrived early to help Theresa finish setting up. He laid out the chips and dip, paper plates, napkins, cups, and an assortment of soft drinks.

"Do you want me to set up the product display tables tonight?" he asked. "Or do you want me to watch the baby?

Before she could answer, the baby wailed.

"If you take care of Sam, I'll handle the rest. He just ate, so he's probably needs a change. Besides, this is Denise's party. She's bringing more food and all of the goodies with her."

"No problem. I'll take him. Where's your husband tonight? Will there be any other kids?" He hoped there might be so he could escape the wave of estrogen he knew he'd be hit with when the revelers arrived. Tomorrow he'd definitely need to go to the gym or find another way to rebuild his testosterone level.

"He's on surveillance with the new guy, Ramon. He volunteered for the shift when he found out about the party. I have no idea what he's so afraid of. It isn't like he hasn't been invited to this kind of thing before. Oh and he wanted me to wish you luck tonight."

"Luck?"

She shrugged. "It's what he said." She beamed. "Now go do some male bonding or whatever with Sam."

"Hey, stinker, I'm coming," he called.

~x~x~

Frederick called from the guest bathroom, "Theresa, we seem to have a problem."

"What's the matter?"

"Someone has had some serious tummy trouble and he needs a bath and new PJs."

"I hate to ask, but do you mind handling it? Everyone is supposed to show up any minute and I'm not quite ready yet."

"Not a problem. Where do you want me to bathe him, where you can supervise in the kitchen or in here?"

"Everything you need should be there. Yell if you need more towels."

Every bath Sam took required one towel for him and at least two for the lucky adult who bathed him. His mother probably didn't need as many towels, but she was probably methodical about bath time and didn't let him play with lots of tub toys.

~x~x~

Several women invaded the Carlson residence for the Brown Bag party. Most of the multi-level marketing parties Frederick had attended had at least one other man who'd been roped into going, but from the sounds coming from the cramped living room, he was the token male.

"Ladies, ladies. I'd like to thank you all for coming," Denise, the redhead twenty-something party-hostess with a body that could have graced Sports Illustrated, said to the group of ten women in the living room. "Tonight should be fun and _educational_. Theresa, are we expecting anyone else?"

"Everyone is here except for Connie, she got stuck at work. And the final member of the party is giving Sam his bath," Theresa said.

"Houston? We have a problem," Frederick's baritone carried from the bathroom, down the hall into the living room.

"I'll be right there," she answered.

"No, I've got it. I just need to know if you've got either a mop or some more towels. Sam's having a bit too much fun and I've used all the dry towels you had in here."

Sam loved baths, especially splashing. The bigger the splash and the more water on the floor, the better he liked it. Because there could be almost as much water on him as in the sink, Frederick made it a habit to take off at least his shirt when he had bath duty. Depending on the number of kids, sometimes he'd even remove his jeans. Unfortunately, tonight he'd left his white button down on and he was soaked to the skin.

"A man? You invited a man? Are the girls alright with this? Do any of them mind? Never mind," Denise said. Now she wouldn't need any party games or any ice breakers; a man would be a lovely diversion for the lot of them. "I would have brought a few more things if I knew we were going to have one of those tonight. You know, we should think about doing a couple's party at some point."

Theresa addressed the group, "No couples parties, at least not here. Roy would kill me and then he'd die of embarrassment."

"Yes but he might benefit, too," the dowdy blond in the corner said.

True. And so might all of them. "That's beside the point. I don't really count Bardo as a man because he's gay. We're all open minded, aren't we?" Theresa asked. She knew none of the women would have a problem with a gay man at a sex toy party or she wouldn't have invited him. Even though she'd never come right out and asked him, she was pretty sure that Frederick was gay since the only person he seemed to talk about was Caesar and Caesar had no problem displaying his 'pride' for the world to see.

Theresa's gaydar was pretty accurate. Most of the time. Wasn't it? Definitely. She had reliable gaydar and she'd only been wrong once. Granted the one big time it failed her, she wound up on a double date with two gay men and one lesbian, Betsy. Betsy spent all night tying knots in maraschino cherry stems to prove what _fun_ they would have later. She shuddered at the thought. Thank heavens that was a long time ago and no one ever found out about it.

"Fine. We'll treat him like he's one of the girls," Denise said. No way was she going to leave a potentially vulnerable man alone _or_ treat him like one of the girls. She was going to ask him about his product preferences at every turn and then make him elaborate on them. Maybe he could demonstrate things. It wasn't like she'd make him place an order in front of anyone but her.

"And he's shy so you all have to be nice to him," Theresa said. She wagged her finger at Denise and then at the rest of the group. "If he's not happy, I lose my best and most responsible babysitter. It's too high a price."

"Does he know what kind of party this is? It might be a problem if he's shy. Or that'll make it even more fun."

"I told him it was a Brown Paper Bag party. I figured he'd either ask or look it up on the internet."

"So he doesn't really know?"

"Not definitely." Okay, maybe Theresa had wanted to push his buttons and know with certainty which team he batted for. It wasn't really very fair of her and she felt a little guilty about it. Maybe she'd make a double batch of brownies for him or maybe a peanut butter pie.

"Then this'll be good."

* * *

Thanks in advance for reading and reviewing. Happy Freddy Friday!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Standard verse, doesn't change much. JE gets the glory and I get the fun.

A/N: Remember, not only is it Friday somewhere, it's five o'clock somewhere, too.

Let's and Say We Didn't 04  
Friday Belongs to Frederick Rodriguez  
by Alfonsina

_Cassandra double checked her list for the third time that hour. She knew she had everything for her boss's vacation to be a success: skis, warm clothing, extra memory for his camera, and reservations at the best B&B in Aspen. When she packed his bag for him, she made sure he had a sleep mask so the room would be dark enough for him to get plenty of shut eye. _

_She even called Grant's current lady love, Alicia Hayworth, to ensure she'd be at the airport on time for the all expenses paid, four day, romantic rendezvous._

_When Grant initially asked her to set up a ski weekend for two, somehow Cassandra thought she was the other one in the equation. She skied, loved snow, and had lived in Aspen when she was younger. She thought he finally figured out that she was desperately in love with her him. _

_For two years, she'd been sending out what she thought were the right signals. She made sure he never had to think about coffee or meals when he was at work. His schedule was meticulously organized and updated. Thoughtful gifts for families and friends were procured on his behalf long in advance, wrapped, and shipped with personalized notes signed by him but written by her. She'd smoothed out all of the rough patches in his life._

_Last night in a tearful conversation with her best friend, Chloe, she came to a conclusion. There was no way Grant Tucker would ever pay attention to her in a romantic or sexual way because she'd turned into his MOTHER. _

~x~x~

"So you had women falling at your feet last night. That's new for you. Nice. Very nice," Caesar said. "Pass the syrup. You make really dry waffles. "

Some Sunday morning traditions never changed, for some families that meant church or sleeping late. In the Rodriguez household Sunday always meant waffles and church. From the time he was a kid, Frederick's mother worked two waffle irons and made enough batter to feed a dozen kids. There was one catch: no church, no waffles. Today's Egg-O Waffles direct from the freezer weren't the same, but tradition was tradition, sort of, and it was Sunday morning.

"If they're dry, it's because you left them in the toaster too long, doofus" Frederick said as he passed a bottle of Mrs. Butterworth's across the table. "And it was one woman, not multiple. Besides, Connie didn't fall at my feet. She tripped because see didn't see me."

"Oh, this has got to be good. How could she miss you? You're six foot three and your shoulders are broader than mine. It sucks that your waist and hips are narrower than mine. I miss wrestling, I was buff back in the day." Caesar went to the refrigerator to retrieve a stick of butter. "You need to get some blueberry syrup for next time. I'm getting tired of Mrs. Butterworth's." He uncapped the bottle and held it over his plate to the count of ten to ensure proper rehydration of the stack of waffles.

"Next time you complain about Sunday morning breakfast or my preference in syrup, you're in charge of making it or paying for it at a restaurant." Not that Frederick liked IHOP, but if they couldn't get the waffles right, no one could. "Keep using syrup like that and you'll go into a diabetic coma and I'll make sure no one visits you in the hospital." Right. Frederick would probably live in the hospital room if it ever happened.

"Fine. So anyway, you tripped her. Go on."

"I was in the bathroom because my eyes were dry. I took out my contacts so I could put some water on them." He'd excused himself after Denise lifted a tablecloth to display what she called 'the best part of a man without the man'. It was too much information and they were devices he never considered using when he was with a woman. The unveiling was a good time to excuse himself from the group who had been avidly commenting on the pros and cons of the various offerings. "I lost one of the lenses when I was in the bathroom. I was on my hands and knees looking for it. Most of me was in the room, by my ankles and feet were in the hallway. She didn't see my foot and stumbled over it."

"So I was right, she did fall at your feet. Did you find the contact?"

"Yeah."

"No harm, no foul."

"Actually, she sprained her wrist when she used the doorframe to stop her fall. I took her to the ER to have it x-rayed."

"I like my story better. She wanted to get to know you and threw herself at you so you'd finally break your dry spell. God, but you're boring."

"Yeah, yeah. Next time you get up check to see if I've got any whipped cream. I've got a craving for it."

"Any in your fridge or the freezer?"

"None in the fridge. Maybe the freezer." There was an unopened tub of frozen whipped topping until last night when he made three banana splits for himself. His recipe was mostly vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and just enough banana to justify the dessert as being fruit. Last night, he had to endure ten women extolling the virtues of various sweet concoctions as aids in their sex lives. After he got home, he ate an entire jar of maraschino cherries after he poured the juice into a bottle of Seven Up and had a Shirley Temple. What he'd really wanted when he got home was a Tom Collins, but he didn't have either the gin or any Collins mix. It was time to make a grocery list: hot chocolate sauce, gin, Collins mix, whipped cream (frozen and the aerosol kind), maraschino cherries, graham crackers, butterscotch hard candies, jelly beans, chocolate frosting, Captain Crunch, and Hamburger Helper. He should probably only buy the Hamburger Helper, but he dreamt of high sugar and fat content food.

He couldn't stop the disturbing conversation from replaying over and over in his head.

"_Come on Bardo," Denise had said. "Surely you can give us the male perspective on whipped cream."_

"_It's great on hot fudge sundaes with cherries on top or on pie. My favorite is rhubarb." It wasn't until all of the women in the group laughed that he realized he was the only one talking about dessert. They were all thinking _dessert_. There was only one woman in the group he might have considered as a potential for dessert, but she was not only off limits, she didn't know he even existed._

Initially, there were some candles, lotions and potions presented for sale. He figured they'd all buy enough things they'd need a brown paper bag. He was wrong and naïve all because he hadn't asked for any details before agreeing to attend. Everyone had the opportunity to sample several of the massage oils. That wasn't too bad until Denise offered to lick it off him to see if the flavor was different on a man's skin. He might have agreed but there was something about her feral smile that made him squeamish. Then again, maybe not. Long ago he'd learned to fake it when he was out of his depth. Not to mention he was acquainted with most of the women, they all did multi-level marketing and attending this was just professional courtesy. Wasn't it? But the whole licking thing was above and beyond the call of duty. Just thinking about the possibility made him shudder.

The display of lingerie was even harder to deal with. Sure some of it was pretty. All of the women's stuff was lacy and filmy. Most of it left little if anything to the imagination. He'd been glad that there was no fashion show. Unfortunately they started asking for his opinion and he was in the deep end without any water wings. Normally he wouldn't have minded giving his opinion about favorite colors and length, but when they asked which would be better to get the attention of specific males did he become really uncomfortable. He didn't want to know that Roy looked especially happy the morning after Theresa wore a bright red merry widow. No way did he want to think about the good mood Lester would be in when he discovered his girlfriend's new 'lady courtesan' black lace nightie. He needed to investigate some of these parties more closely before he agreed to attend any more.

"That reminds me. I bought you something last night," Frederick said. "It should be here next week."

"Ooh. Did you get me the new ultra-thin condoms with extra ribbing? You didn't forget that I like the extra-large. I'm almost out. I only have three dozen left."

"No. You know better than to ask me to buy you condoms." When they'd been roommates at University of Arizona, Caesar tried to take him to an adult bookstore to buy them since they were supposedly superior. When the clerk offered to show them great toys for _couples _ Frederick balked and bolted. It was the one and only time they'd been in a store like that together. "I got you a pair of raspberry colored drawstring pajama pants. Silky fabric. You'll like them."

"Why? I sleep in the buff."

"Because you never know when company is coming." There was nothing he felt comfortable buying for himself but he felt obligated to buy something as a show of good manners. The only noncontroversial thing he could find to buy were pajama pants that he didn't need.

"Sure I do. It is usually preceded by the words 'don't stop' and some heavy breathing. Usually there's some writhing and a look of tortured ecstasy." Caesar wagged his eyebrows and winked. "Seriously, you know I don't ever have overnight company because I don't believe in awkward morning afters."

"I'd forgotten about your rule. The only one who ever stayed over was Victor."

"Victor never stayed over. I stayed with him. Damn, I still miss him. You know I always did have things for tall blonds with blue eyes and long hair." Victor was all about monogamy and commitment. He also wanted a family. The worst sin he committed was that he wanted those things with Caesar. Caesar ran as fast as he could into the arms of the next six waiting men.

"You're all about the outer package. I think there's more to women than their looks and sex. Women are complex. After breakfast, want to go to the grocery with me? I've already got a list and I'm out of your soda and cookies."

"You're changing the subject. Sex isn't that complicated. You make it that way which explains why you never get laid. So, go on about last night's offerings. It can't have been that embarrassing or humiliating."

Oh yes it could. Frederick had been embarrassed, but was able to live with it until the table cloth was lifted from a display of multi-colored vibrators and dildos. Not a single one of them looked like something that might have occurred in nature. There were ridges where none naturally existed, girth that was enviable, and gyrations that weren't possible to replicate, ever.

"_Ladies and Bardo, I present to you the best of a man without the actual man. These handy, dandy devices are all about you. They don't get tired, don't make demands, and don't have unrealistic expectations. Plus, if you're in the mood and have enough batteries, they can go all night without complaint." _

That was when he decided he needed a break and the only safe place was the bathroom or in with the baby. He'd changed the baby twenty minutes before when a display of flavored potions was displayed to numb the gag reflex. He left before he could hear anyone extolling the virtues of that line of products. He found safety in numbers, even if the numbers were small. Earlier that night, he got wetter than the baby did at bath time. He had to walk down the house in a soaking wet, white shirt that clung to him. He needed to check the car and see if he had clean clothes in his workout bag.

As he headed out the door he heard things that weren't really meant for his ears.

"_Ladies, we now have proof that God is alive and She loves us," Denise said. "I think we need a moment silence to say a prayer of thanksgiving. Can I get an amen?"_

_All of the women intoned the word at the same time. Three of them crossed themselves and the others fanned their faces with their order forms._

"_Yes, God definitely broke the mold when that chest was made," Theresa said. "Don't any of you let Roy know I said that. He's proud of the fact he has six pack abs, he'd resent knowing I've been up close to and admiring an eight pack. Oh my, I think I need a personal moment. Anyone else need some ice?"_

"_Well, my Tommy has a pony keg," Rachel, the blond, snickered. "I only get close to a six pack when I'm buying his beer. And it only stays a six pack until he finds it in the refrigerator."_

"_I get to see them all of the time," Connie said. "I look at my ICON men calendar daily." What she didn't say was that almost daily she encountered men who were hot and built, but they were always completely dressed so she had to use her imagination._

There were two identical duffle bags in the back of the van. He chose the one closer to him, pulled out the black t-shirt and changed it before he went back into the house. It was only after Denise laughed did he look down at the shirt. It said, "I like boys who sparkle." Caesar had a crush on both Edward from the Twilight Series and had this same shirt in three colors. At least it wasn't the _Team Jacob_ shirt that was in baby pink. One day soon Caesar would die a slow and humiliating death. Until then, he was going to quit carrying around Caesar's spare clothes.

"So get to where she fell at your feet." Caesar said. "Don't keep me in suspense."

"Evidently she was desperate to use the john and was in a big real hurry." Maybe she was trying to get away from the discussion, but he couldn't tell.

"Did her skirt at least bunch up so you could get a good look at the goodies?"

"Are you sure you're the one who's gay?" Frederick wiped his hands over his face and let out a sigh. "She had on slacks." The pants were a soft grey that fit her like a glove and made the most of her ass. He'd known Connie for a couple of years, but seldom seen her stand up or smile. Usually when he was at the bond's office she was on the phone trying to put out one fire or another. She didn't make much small talk. When he was around, she'd been pretty much all business.

"You have no luck. You know that, right?"

"Actually, last night she was the one who didn't have any luck. At least it was her left wrist so she won't be too debilitated."

"Was the ER at least fun? Any cute male nurses or attendants? I have a thing for men in uniforms. That's not true. I have a thing for men out of their uniforms."

"I think you're the one who needs to get a life. I don't ask for details of your evenings' activities. Ever." Frederick learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago.

"All you have to do is ask. So tell me about last night."

"We were in the Emergency Room for three hours."

"Who all is we? Come on."

"It was Connie and me. But Denise and Theresa called every fifteen minutes to see how she was and if they needed to come to keep her company."

"Fess up. You really wanted, what was her name, Ruth or is it Roberta, to spend time alone with you. I know you have a thing for willowy blondes."

"You mean Robin and she's too skinny for me." He'd gone out with her once and she wouldn't eat more than half a radish and part of a stick of celery. "I like women who look and feel like women. Think pinups from World War II. Think curves. Think Vargas girls. You know, Jane Russell or Marilyn Monroe. Real." Connie definitely fit the description of a real woman. She had curves in all the right places and the few times he'd seen her walk, he'd been mesmerized by the way her hips swayed. If she hadn't been a client, well best not to even think about that.

"More cushion for the pushin'?"

"You might say that."

"I just did. So what kind of cushion is Connie? Overstuffed? Hard? Soft? Flat? Details."

"Can't really say." He knew better than to elaborate; Caesar had no sense of discretion. "It was more important to keep her distracted while she waited to have wrist checked and wrapped." All the time he was trying to help her get her paperwork filled out, she'd been trying to get rid of him.

"_Do you want me to call someone for you? I'm sure you'd want your boyfriend to keep you company." He'd asked hoping she'd say there was no one, at least no boyfriend._

"_You can go home. I'm sure you've got better things to do than babysit me."_

"_I feel responsible. It's my fault you're here in the first place." Good thing she was a client and therefore, by his own code of ethics and standards, was off limits. He was beginning to feel like one of the heroines in one of his tawdry romance novels, pining for someone who had no idea he was alive all the while wondering if her lips were really as soft as they looked._

"_Fine. After it's over I'll call someone."_

"So, did you at least get a kiss goodnight?"

"No. It wasn't a date gone bad. It wasn't a date of any kind." She hadn't blamed him, but she hadn't talked much while they were in the ER. It might have had to do with the prescription bottle he saw her pull from her purse. She'd closed her eyes and started to hum about half an hour after she took a pill.

"Nope, Friday definitely wasn't a date. It was better. It was a sex toy party. How cool is that? Did you become a distributor so I can get discounts and have my own parties?"

"Not yet." Maybe never. Then again, if he charged Caesar full retail, it might just be worth it. Would Denise be willing to MC a party for a bunch of gay men or do a production for the next bachelor party? Probably if there was enough commission potential.

"Are you doing to do the knight in shining armor thing for this Connie person?"

"What do you mean?" He hadn't considered it, but the idea of being a woman's knight in shining armor had definite appeal.

"Take her to work and do chores around her place? It would be an easy in if you want to check out the cushion factor." Caesar waggled his eyebrows for emphasis.

* * *

Thanks in advance for reading and reviewing. I promise, we'll be turning up the heat soon. Really.

And thanks as always for stopping by to check on Frederick on Friday!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimers: Always the same ... nothing ventured and nothing gained ...**

**A/N: Real life has gotten in the way of everything and then the muse went on strike ... sorry for the delayin the update.  
**

_**Let's and Say We Didn't 05**_  
_**Friday Belongs to Frederick Rodriguez**_  
_**by Alfonsina**_

_Kurt Jones rapped on the door to apartment 212 hoping the occupant wasn't home. He loved doing maintenance around the small complex, but he hated dealing directly with the tenants. He counted to thirty and knocked again. Silence. Good. Inserting the passkey into the lock, turned it and let himself in. Out of habit and courtesy, he called into the apartment as though Candy Robinson was home. Just in case. When there was no reply, he breathed a sigh of relief._

"_Mrs. Robinson, it's Kurt from maintenance. I got a call about a plumbing problem."_

_He checked the kitchen sink. The faucet wasn't leaking and there were no drips below. Double checking the disposal was a reflex, all the better to prevent another call. The only other choice was the solitary bathroom. _

_It was odd that the door was closed. A couple of years ago, his mother had been on a fung shui kick and was constantly closing doors and getting rid of clutter to improve the flow of energy in her house. Maybe his mother and Mrs. Robinson shared a similar belief in the power of feng shui._

_He wrapped quietly on the door before he turned the knob. _

"_Hello, Kurt," the thirty-something busty blonde, clad only in bubbles said. "How are you?"_

"_Mrs. Robinson?" Oh God._

~x~x~

"Took you long enough. You're almost two hours late," Connie said as Lula came through the door. This morning Lula's ensemble looked like a florescent green leopard and a purple tiger had tangled with the big woman; the tiger caught the top half and the leopard her bottom.

"Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," Lula said. "Shit, what did you do to yourself?" She tilted a pink cardboard box in Connie's direction. "Looks like you could use some sugar to kill the pain."

"Sprained it. It isn't a big deal. A little sugar and some Tylenol with codeine in another hour and I'll be just fine."

"No kidding. So give. Did you tangle with someone on Saturday when you were here alone? You know you can call me and I'll back you up. You wouldn't even have to pay me time and a half to bust a cap up someone's ass."

"It wasn't anything like that. I wasn't looking where I was walking and I stumbled. End of story," Connie said. "Please pass the non-prescription pain killers." She lifted the lid on the pink cardboard box and breathed deeply of the flour, fat and sugar and sighed. She closed the lid and handed the box back to Lula. "Never mind."

"Aren't you even going to eat one? You're the one who called me on my way to work to pick up doughnuts."

"I promised Brandon I'd get serious about Pilates and lose some weight." Or was it Kevin? No, that wasn't right either. What was his name again?

"I say there's a really easy way for to get rid of twenty pounds; I'd take his head off and hand it back to him."

"We don't even joke like that in my family."

"Good point. But if he wants you to change, just get rid of him. No man's worth that."

"He's about to reach his sell by date anyway. He'll be twenty-five next month," Connie said. "Pass the box back. I think I'll have the one with the sprinkles on it." She put her hand in and extracted one doughnut looked at it and sighed. She put it back in the box, closed the lid and promptly rethought her actions. When she reopened the box she extracted not one but two doughnuts.

"When am I going to meet this Brandon?"

"Never. I don't want Harry to know now or ever. That's why I have the one hour minimum driving distance, it improves my odds."

"It's not like Harry comes to the office very often. Can't you at least date someone who lives closer than Atlantic City?"

"No."

"I can be discreet."

"Not that I don't trust you, but I don't trust you."

"It would be better for the environment if you dated some local talent."

Connie glared.

"At least take some pictures so I can see what I'm missing."

"Fine. You want to see a picture. Here's a picture." Connie opened the bottom desk drawer and plucked her camera phone from her purse. She scrolled to find a picture and handed it to Lula for inspection.

"Damn, that man is fine, what I can see of him on this piddly ass display. He looks like a young Matt Damon." Wide eyes, blond hair, great smile and killer physique, if a bit stocky.

"He's okay." Jonathan. That was his name. She called them all honey so she never got the actual name wrong. In the end all of the men were all alike. They had to fit her basic requirements: blond with blue eyes, young, discreet, good sense of humor, and incredible stamina between the sheets. Whoever was ripe for the picking had to live and work more than one hour away. While men who fit the tall dark and handsome description made her heart skip a beat, she considered all of them off limits. She'd been down that road before and didn't enjoy the potholes the first time, she doubted the road got smoother over time.

"Why is Harry even a concern? It's not like he's your father."

No. Harry wasn't Connie's father. He was her father's best friend and her godfather, a role he took seriously. Ever since her father died a decade ago, Harry'd been even more protective. It didn't matter to him that Connie was thirty-three and didn't need him to look out for her best interests. In Harry Fontana's eyes, Connie would be his responsibility until either he died or she married someone he approved of, whichever came first.

"He took my divorce personally." Very personally. "And he won't take it well if I get hurt again."

Lula flopped onto the sofa and started to play 'eenie meenie mynie moe' to make her next pastry selection. "Moe. Blueberry filled. Next time I think we'll do some of those mini-pie things so I can get a whole serving of fruit in. Fruit is very important for a well rounded diet and I know how important it is to keep myself well rounded." She looked up from the box and said, "I didn't even know you'd ever been married."

"Starter marriage. The ink wasn't dry on the license before the divorce was filed. I spent more time planning the wedding and honeymoon than I was married."

"Never been married my own self. Back in the day, I used to play games like Here Comes the Groom."

"Thank you for sharing. Didn't they have any with chopped peanuts on them?"

"Sprinkles are easier and no one is allergic to them. Peanuts are more filling and a great source of protein. You know the problem with society is everything is all about the looks and no appreciation for substance." She frowned as she gazed into the box as if the longer she looked at the contents, the more likely the would transmography into something more substantial, maybe peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream. "So what went wrong so fast?" Lula asked.

"Other than the fact that he was a sexual disease waiting for a place to happen?"

"It's just wrong when you worry about your husband giving you something that doesn't come from the store."

"Yeah. I should have taken it as a bad sign when he didn't want to have blood work done before we got married."

Lula nodded. "And?"

"He passed that time. About three months after we got married, I came home from work early and found a message on our machine."

"So?"

"It was from the free clinic."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Tell me about it."

"I'd have whipped his ass. What did you do?"

"After I went to his job and slashed all of his tires?"

Lula nodded.

"I called Harry, emptied the bank account and had the locks on the apartment changed." Harry and a friend came over to straighten things out. It was the last time Connie anything other than Franco's signature on the divorce papers. "Since then, I don't keep men long enough to get emotionally invested."

"That's too bad."

"Franco would have been a crappy husband. It was probably for the best."

"What happened to him?"

"Gone without a trace."

"Dead?"

"Could be dead. Could be hiding from Harry. No one's ever said one way or the other."

"Why should they? He's just some lame ass man who's ancient history."

"Franco is Harry's son."

"Ouch. Want the chocolate doughnut?"

Connie got up from her chair and sat in the chair next to Lula. She examined the contents of the box again and sighed. She would be better off cutting out the middle man and just gluing the white flour and sugar concoctions to her ass, they were going to wind up there anyway.

* * *

Thanks in advance for reading and reviewing ... I promise to update sooner next time. Really.


	6. Chapter 6

**Let's and Say We Didn't 06**  
**Friday Belongs to Frederick Rodriguez**  
**Alfonsina**

_**Disclaimers: I liked book nine, but made no money then and make no money now from it or the characters … we are borrowing from the Las Vegas MM group this time around …**_

_**A/N: Technically there are spoilers here for "To the Nines". Considering I don't use canon much, this is a big deal for some of you. It does remain a MM piece – even if we are going back in time for just a little while.**_

_**I would like to thank Reader Jane for providing such an amazing database of Plum Characters, names, crimes, etc. Though she didn't do it for me, I still appreciate her and all of her hard work. T, baby, you know how I feel about you.**_

"_What are you doing?" Stacey Long asked as she peered over her friend's shoulder._

"_Nothing." Karen Winkelman flipped to a blank page in her notebook and put down her pen. She wasn't about to admit to what the scribbles meant. At least not to Stacey who would never let her live it down._

"_Doesn't look like nothing to me. It looks like-"_

_Stacey's face reddened before she confessed. "Fine. Yes, I was practicing my signature. OK?"_

_Karen grabbed the notebook and flipped the page. "Have mercy. Mrs. Karen Devlin. Mrs. Karen Winkleman-Devlin. Mrs. Wallace Devlin? Please, that's so junior high from the 1950s."_

"_Give that back. It's a good name."_

"_Sure it is. But why are you practicing writing it if the man doesn't even know you exist?"_

"_He knows I exist. He apologized to me today after he knocked me over." He'd called 'sorry' over his shoulder without looking back. He could have knocked over a member of the cleaning crew or the head of accounting and never known who was in his wake._

"_Because he couldn't see you. He had his arms full of a floral arrangement that probably cost more than you earn in a week."_

"_They were pretty."_

"_He was delivering them to his wife."_

"_That does present a problem." Karen only took the job as receptionist at Devlin Enterprises six months ago. The highlight of her day was watching her boss cross the lobby no less than four times a day._

"_Really? Do you think so? It's time for a reality check, sweetie."_

~x~x~

Frederick's burned as he stared at the spreadsheet. Things weren't adding up right. Again. He pondered which formula was wrong when his office extension rang twice. "Rodriguez."

"Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi; you're my only hope." The caller did a very bad imitation of Princess Leia.

"Who is this?" The voice was familiar, but voice recognition was never Frederick's strong suit. He gave himself the excuse that he dealt with so many people over the phone, he couldn't be troubled to recognize them all. It would have been plausible except that he didn't even recognize his mother's voice unless she identified herself or he checked Caller ID.

"Dumb shit, it's me, JC. Who did you think it was?" Caesar asked.

"Sorry. Everything okay?" Frederick's eyes darted between his monitor and the to-do list he had printed out and sighed. His lists never got shorter, no matter how many hours he worked in a day. He either needed to be cloned, quit traveling, or get a part time admin.

"Yeah, fine. Hey, I've got a proposition for you. And before you get wierded out, this isn't something I planned but it could be really good for both of us."

"Can we talk later? I've got to head to a meeting in five minutes. I have to start to make some busywork ready for a prospective new hire." Frederick picked up his pen and clicked it in a staccato rhythm.

"Is he cute?"

"The new hire? I have no idea. All I know is from an e-mail, someone with initials SP. I hope he's got some admin skills and isn't limited to field work. Can I meet you after work at the deli around the corner?" He re-examined the list and found two things to cross off. Unfortunately, they were replaced by three more things he needed to get done.

"Sure. I'll see you at six. See if you can get me a picture of the new guy, will you?"

"Good-bye, JC."

"Good-night, John Boy."

Frederick shoved the chair away from his desk and stretched. After the meeting with Silvio, to build the macros to do the work quickly in case the new hire didn't work out, he'd finish up his presentation to a new chain of twenty-four hour gyms that had a predominantly female clientele. Tonight he'd pack for meetings with affiliate offices.

~x~x~

"So, it's like this. I want to spread my wings. But-" Caesar spread his arms wide and almost hit the pregnant woman walking toward a booth at the back of the deli. "Sorry," he said to the woman. "Like I was saying. I want to spread my wings. But-"

"Here we go; there's always a but. But what? This isn't another relationship conversation, is it? I can't have another one of those with you. If you really want a relationship, I'll buy you a book from Dr. Laura." Frederick shook his head. Ever since Caesar and Victor broke up, Caesar had been soliciting advice from everyone on how to meet The One. Until The One showed up and knocked on his door, Caesar was holding open auditions for Prince Charming.

"No. This is about something different. I've got a date with Carson tomorrow." Carson was the scrawny server at the deli and didn't look to be more than fifteen. "It's just that I'm tired of living so close to all the guys. I want a place with a yard and a garage. I want to live in a house. A duplex would do, if I had to. I want some privacy, man."

"It'll probably be more expensive than what you've got going right now. You know, water, electric, garbage – they all cost money. That kind of thing will impact your style. Not that it wouldn't be a bad thing for you to put away your frat boy ways." Frederick swirled three French fries into catsup. "I really need to quit eating carbs. Next time, we go to a salad bar."

"You look fine. Let's get back to the subject, me. We're talking about me changing my life and that's where you come in." Caesar took a long draw from his can of Dr. Pepper. "And before you ask, no, I don't want you to be my maid."

"In that case, I'm not going to set you up in another multi-level marketing program that you'll drop out of after the first meeting." Frederick took another look at his plate, he'd ordered the Dagwood and now he regretted it. One sandwich had enough cold cuts, cheese and greens to make three meals. He didn't want to think about the fat, nitrates or preservatives. Why was it that food that tasted so good could be so bad for you?

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of sharing the rent and all the other bills. I know you've heard the term before, it's roommate." Caesar took a large bite out of a pickle spear and chewed it slowly. "Aren't you tired of living in a studio apartment?"

"Sure, but I'm not there much. Plus, it came furnished." He knew the place had been furnished in castoffs from the owner, but it was decent enough for his needs. When he moved in, his only real requirement other than a bed was a decent desk and an internet connection. Four years later, he was still there and still didn't care about the hodge podge that surrounded him.

"Come on. Don't you miss gardening? Don't you miss the privacy?"

"Not really. No. I only did yardwork when I lived at home because it was expected not because I liked it."

"Please? We'll split everything down the middle."

"What's really going on?"

"The boss took me into the office today," Caesar said.

"So? Are you having problems on the job?"

"No. Ranger wants to keep an apartment free and right now they're all occupied."

"Again, so?"

"So, he saw me in the hall and asked me to talk to him. You know him, he never talks." Ranger Manoso never talked unless it was pertinent to the situation, and then he didn't mince words. "He wants to free up at least one apartment in the building and he wants it done by a volunteer. I'm tired of feeling like I'm living in a dorm and I think I need to live in the real world."

"I thought you loved having everything done for you: meals, laundry, cleaning. All you have to do is be at work on time. Sounds like you won't be coming out ahead."

"You do know that we have to pay for that convenience, right? There's no free lunch, Bardo. You of all people know that." Caesar flashed a smile at Carson. "At least think about it. It would be good for both of us."

"When do you need an answer for the boss?"

"Soon. Friday, I think."

"Get some rental information for me to look at before I go out of town and I'll let you know when I get back."

"Where're we going?"

"_We_ aren't going anywhere. _I've_ got travel next week. Atlanta, Dallas, Albuquerque, Phoenix, Vegas, and -"

"Vegas? You're going to Vegas?"

"I'm only going to be there for a couple of meetings. The next day-"

"Can you at least promise you'll have a bad time when you're there? I'll give you one-hundred bucks for craps. Baby wants a new pair of shoes."

"I don't gamble, I don't drink very much, and I don't go to clubs by myself."

"How old are you really? Thirty? My God, you've gotten old and stodgy. You definitely need to get laid."

"It's a business trip. I don't do well in meetings when I'm hung over." And Frederick was a cheap drunk. It only took two drinks for him to lose his inhibitions. He couldn't remember what happened the last time he had three drinks, which was why he quit drinking at two. "This is my job. I'm not going for fun."

"At least get me a souvenir."

"Fine. And before you go out with Carson over there," Frederick said, "check his ID to make sure he isn't jailbait."

~x~x~

After Frederick's plane landed in Las Vegas, he met Erik Salvatora, one of the local Rangeman associates in baggage claim. Frederick only had a hanging bag and a computer case for the trip and hadn't really needed to check either item. It wasn't difficult to identify Erik, he looked like virtually everyone else who worked for the company: large, fit, and dressed in basic black.

"You didn't need to pick me up, I could have taken the shuttle to the hotel." Frederick said.

"Slow day, besides, I want to talk to you about the home office. They've sent someone to pick up one of your skips," Erik said. "Let's get something to eat and catch up. You haven't been here in what, six months?" Erik nodded his head in the direction of short term parking. "We're this way."

"I need to get here more often to build some relationships, but things have been busy at the office. God, I miss the desert." Frederick said. "The dry heat. The wide open spaces. The brown. Jersey's got way too much humidity and too many trees."

"I could never live some place where it snowed. Anything below 60 and I'm freezing. You could always transfer here," Erik Salvatora said. Erik was one of three people in the Vegas office. "You'd have to go into field work or bodyguarding, but it's doable and you know the fundamentals. It would only take one winter for your blood would thin out."

"Believe me. I've thought about it. When we open a full office anywhere in the southwest, I might make the move." Might was the operative word. He liked working in the corporate office and managing all of the national accounts. A smaller, regional office would be a definite step down. It would, however, give him the opportunity to reduce his workload and settle down and start a family.

"We'd love to have you. Miguel and I need to bring in at least one more person." Las Vegas was the key to expanding the Rangeman footprint across the country. Nevada had everything: growing population, relatively low cost of living, decent weapon laws, close proximity to Los Angeles, Phoenix, San Francisco, and Reno.

"Either of you have any single sisters or cousins?" Frederick tried not to be too hopeful when he asked. A decent prospect for a relationship would encourage him to push to expand the southwest markets sooner than later.

"Nope."

"Pity. It might sweeten the pot."

"Trust me, if you knew my sisters you'd run in the opposite direction; they're loud, they're round, and they have better mustaches than half the men I know. But if you're looking for a hookup while you're here, I know where to take you. After all, the tourists all say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." Erik flashed a brilliant smile.

"And you keep the photographic proof in Vegas, right?"

"Someone has to."

"Bro."

"Yep. Hey, do you want me to go with you to the meeting tomorrow with the Luxor surveillance team?"

"You already have an in there?"

"Sure. Terri O'Conner and I go way back. I dated his sister for about a week, ten years ago. The best thing about her was her over protective brother. I dumped the sister and kept in touch with him. We do each other favors from time to time."

"So why don't you try to get the contract?"

"Easy. I'm not in sales. I don't see how you handle all that rejection." Erik pulled into a strip mall and aimed for a Chinese restaurant. "It's a dive but they've got great hot and sour soup. Will that work?"

"Sure. You know, if you've got the right product and service mix, build a relationship, you can handle most of the objections. Besides, it isn't a personal rejection. Business is business."

"That's how I look at women."

"Business?" Frederick shuddered. Nothing about approaching or dating a woman was businesslike and EVERY rejection was personal. Maybe it was because he thought long and hard about a woman before he approached her; he'd even do research to make sure she wasn't married or attached. He had no problem striking up conversations with clients or strangers, but he seldom built any chemistry.

"No. It isn't personal. Once I get the rejection, I move right along or I play with them and try to tease them out of it."

"Let me get a steno pad from my briefcase before we go inside," Frederick said. "I'm going to need to take notes."

"On women?"

"No, on the Luxor and see if we can uncover any holes in their current system."

~x~x~

"So let me get this right? All other clients are on hold until this Singh person is brought back to Jersey?" This was the first Frederick heard about Samuel Singh, but he generally dealt with corporate clients and new installations.

"The bond is a million. It gets the priority." Erik took a sip of his tea. "Since I get paid either way, I just do what they tell me."

"Why aren't you making the apprehension?"

"Technically it isn't our client, we don't even get a cut. The boss was going to send Tank, but he got held up at security in the Newark airport."

"Just how many people need to apprehend a skinny computer geek?" Frederick asked. "Once you tracked down the address, it shouldn't-"

"Like I said, I just do what they tell me. Besides, I heard that the bounty hunter they sent is quite the dish."

"I'm out of the loop. Who did they send? Jeanne Ellen might be female, but I wouldn't call her a dish."

"Nah. I got a picture of her right before you landed. Curly brown hair, nice ass, small-ish tits." He scrolled through the pictures on his blackberry. "Here you go. I'd let her put me in handcuffs."

Frederick took the phone and looked at the picture. She did look familiar, but she didn't hang around the office when he was there, so he couldn't be certain. "Name?"

"Stephanie Plum. Oh and she's not traveling on her own. Tank said she's traveling with aed a bounty hunter in training, someone named Lula. Heard she's big enough to be a sumo wrestler."

"Got a picture of her?" Frederick didn't really care, but it was good form to know who was here.

"Sure. Hand it back." Erik took the phone from Frederick and found a picture of a plus sized black woman with blond braids and a purple feather boa. "I would pay _her_ not to handcuff me – ever."

Frederick took the phone back and looked at the image and passed it back. "I don't disagree. At least they aren't your direct responsibility for more than, what, twenty-four hours."

"Not true. I've been told that there can't be so much as a scratch on the brunette or heads will roll. I think the boss is doing her. What do you think?"

"I wouldn't know. We talk business, money, strategies, and marketing initiatives. At least you only have to keep track of two women. That shouldn't be too hard, should it?"

"I forgot. There's a third." Erik scrolled to the next image. "There's someone named Connie who's part of the party. I don't know what her roll is. But from that picture, I'd say that one's got curves in all the right places. She's probably-"

"Shit." Frederick grabbed the electronic device from Erik. "I know Connie. She's here?"

"Not yet. I think they land in a couple of hours. I'm supposed to shadow them until they get into trouble. If they need anything, they'll call me. So, tell me about this Connie dame."

"Not a lot to tell. She's a corporate contact and client. No mixing business with pleasure."

"Looks like the boss does it. What's good for the goose, man."

"It's not his rule, it's mine. Connie doesn't know I'm alive."

"Ah, you think that's the problem." Erik put his fork down and took a hard look at Frederick. "She probably knows you're alive. She probably just thinks you're too buttoned up."

"Thanks for that."

"No really. You're too smooth and too polished. Not a single callous on your hands. It doesn't look like there's ever been dirt under your fingernails. And you have a body that could only come out of a gym."

"We both know that's not true." So much for well planned and balanced workouts. Maybe he should start working on a farm or riding horses again and give up all of the machines.

"Let's get you dirty while you're here and maybe you can get dirty while you're here. Eat up. Time's wasting."

"I've got two nights and I'm gone."

"Rome may not have been built in a day, but I can improve your game in one night. Do you have any casual clothes in your bag?"

"Just some workout clothes and a pair of old jeans. Nothing to go out in."

"In that case, let's get you something to wear at a club so you don't look so-"

"Uptight?"

"Not the word I was thinking, but that'll work. Oh and thanks for paying for dinner," Erik said.

"I didn't realize I'd volunteered to pay for yours."

"You can expense it and I can't. We've talked business."

"Good enough. Let's get you checked in at the hotel."

"It's nicer than my place," Frederick said. "I could get used to this." He looked around the suite at the Luxor. It was larger than his studio apartment and better decorated. The sleeping area was done in neutrals and whites, the sitting area had more of a punch of color. Maybe moving and actually buying furniture wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. The only debt he had was one student loan and it would be paid off at the end of the year. Yes. It was definitely time to start to live like a grown up.

Why not just take Caesar up on his offer to be a roommate? Neither of them spent much time at home. Definitely. It wouldn't even matter where the place was. Time for coordinating furniture and a bed that didn't have a permanent dip in the middle. Leather sofas and recliners would work, provided the plasma screen was big enough.

"Are you ready to go or are you going to admire the room all night? If you two want to be alone together, I can take a hint," Erik checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

"Sure. Sorry. I've been some nice places lately, but this takes the cake. It's giving me ideas."

"That's Vegas, baby. It's the Hotel California of cities, we want you to check in and not leave, at least not until you've spent all of your money."

"Let me make one quick phone call before we head out."

"Time's wasting. If you can walk, you can talk."

"Yeah, yeah." Frederick pulled the phone from his pocket and dialed. "Hey JC? Let's do it. I trust you to pick out a decent place. Go ahead and sign the lease and I'll get you my half of the money when I get home." He closed the phone.

* * *

Thanks for stopping by to read and review. Frederick is going to try to get in touch with his inner alpha male ... we need to wish him well. ~ Alf.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimers: I think we've covered them all before. I get nothing but a good time ... but like come hair coloring pursuits, it is worth it.

A/N: Real Life has a way of getting in the way of the important things like Freddy and other writing pursuits. To those of you who have been waiting, thank you. And by my own clock, it is not yet midnight here, so it is still officially Freddy Friday.

**Let's and Say We Didn't 07**  
**Frederick Rodriguez  
by Alfonsina**

_Claus Dietzman's new secretary, April, was a problem. He just never realized how big. Her work was consistent and good, but she was forever sucking on things. Usually it was the top of her pen or the first knuckle on her left hand. But he didn't know if she consciously wrapped her lips around things in such a distracting manner._

_Today was the company's ice cream social. As president, Claus had taken it upon himself to distribute ice cream bars to the staff. It would have been fine until he looked up and noticed April eating hers. Her eyes had glazed over and she looked like she was in ecstasy even though she had a long white dribble going down her chin. Her pouty red lips moving up and down …_

~x~x~

"It's really a shame that wasn't Tom Jones. That guy was pretty good," Connie said. "Who knew there was such a strong rivalry between the Tom Jones impersonators and the Elvis impersonators? Is it that way between all of the celebrities?" She made air quotes around the word celebrities.

"I'm just glad I got my thong back. It would be one thing to give it to the real Tom Jones, but to an imposter? No way in hell. No imposter should be rewarded that way." Lula shook her head. "You know, Stephanie is really missing out by going to bed early. And she doesn't even want to gamble."

"She's a big girl. If she doesn't gamble, she won't lose anything." Connie craned her neck and tried to see into the crowded room. "Do you see any craps tables? I'm looking for the craps table. I hate being short. Even my lucky shoes aren't helping me see anything."

"I do love those shoes. Red patent-leather stilettos should be a staple in every woman's closet. They're timeless." They both admired Connie's feet. She lifted her right foot and rotated the ankle.

"Who says a four inch heel isn't practical for every day?"

Lula said, "You know, Vinnie needs to have more skips that come to Vegas I could get used to this place. Everywhere you go, there's an all you can eat buffet. No way I'd ever go hungry living here. I mean, there's enough prime rib to keep a supermodel on her diet for the rest of her life."

"I didn't think that finding food was a problem for you," Connie said.

Lula put her hands on her hips and glared. "Is that a dig? Did you mean something by that comment? Because-"

"No. It's just that you have an ability to find food wherever you go. Look, there are the slot machines. I'll see you back at the room." Connie turned on her lucky heel and went in the opposite direction.

"When?"

"Later. Much, much later. Mama wants a new pair of shoes and I'm feeling like the dice will bring me luck tonight."

~x~x~

Three hours and five lemon drop martini's later, the only pain Connie felt was the short, rotund and balding Elvis impersonator at her side. The only luck she'd had at the table was bad. Very bad.

"I want to go to bed, Wayne," Connie said. She raised her fist to her mouth attempting to stifle a yawn.

"Sounds good to me. I knew you couldn't resist the King's charms." Wayne curled his upper lip and attempted a smile; it would have been more convincing if it didn't look so much like a leer.

There was no way Connie couldn't have resisted Elvis when he was in his prime. Wayne was past his and she had no problem resisting him. "I don't think so. I need to get some sleep. Alone." Maybe she overemphasized the last word, but she wasn't sure if Wayne could take a hint.

"Come on, baby, it's a convention." He tried to put his arm over her shoulder and couldn't quite reach it. "You have to let your hair down at a convention. It's a rule."

"A rule?" She slurred the words. "With you?"

"Why not me?"

"Please. And get your hand off my ass." Connie removed the offending hand and stepped away from him.

"How about breakfast? There's a place nearby that's got great waffles and fried chicken."

"You have to pay, I just lost all of my cash." Two-thousand dollars in three hours. Well, she wouldn't have to worry about going to Atlantic City any time soon. This would make it easier to break the bad news to Brandon. No, that wasn't it. Jason? No. She'd figure out later who it was and call him when she got home. He was a one trick pony and after he'd performed his trick, he wanted to be held and praised when all she wanted to do was sleep. Yes, he'd definitely reached his sell by date. Whatever his name was.

Before she realized it, she'd fallen into step with Wayne and was out the casino doors and walking down the street. Even in the middle of the night, there was plenty of foot and street traffic.

"Why are we stopping here?" Connie asked. She couldn't read the sign in front of the white building. Sure there was a placard, but the letters were swimming in and out of focus. She sniffed the air and turned toward Wayne. "It doesn't smell like a restaurant."

"We'll get there in a minute. I just wanted to stop by and see my friend." Wayne ushered her through the double doors and into a room. It reminded her of the viewing room at Stiva's mortuary: lots of folding chairs, large floral bouquets bookending a podium. "Hey, Elliott, are you in here tonight?"

A man entered through a side door. Everything about him was non-descript and medium: medium height, medium build, medium brown hair. "Wayne, you're late. I thought you said you'd be here hours ago."

"Got stuck at a concert and watching this pretty lady win my heart." Wayne took Connie's hand in his and placed it over his heart. "Can we get a picture?"

~x~x~

The bar was nice enough and full of plenty of beautiful women who were looking for the Vegas experience, and most likely a sugar daddy. Both Miguel and Erik were more than willing to play the part for the night.

The bass had been so loud after an hour Frederick was convinced his teeth had come loose. After four hours, he was convinced his ears were bleeding.

"Guys, I have to go. I've got a meeting in the morning," Frederick said. "Brittney and Maura, it was a pleasure to meet you both."

"You aren't leaving because Katie's talking to that guy over there, are you?" Brittney, the perky blond, said. She indicated a man who looked like he was a professional football player. His shirt alone probably cost more than Frederick earned in a week. The diamond pinky ring was worth more than his annual salary twice over.

"No. I really have a meeting."

"I'll give you a ride," Miguel said. He removed the redhead from his shoulder. "Babe, want to keep me company? Then I can take you on a much _longer _ride."

"Just point me in the direction of the hotel and I can walk or grab a cab," Frederick said. "I don't want to break up your party."

"If you're sure," Erik said. "Call me after your meeting and we'll do lunch."

"No problem. Good night."

Despite nursing two beers for the better part of the night, Frederick needed to clear his head. The night was warm and dry perfect weather to stretch his legs.

He knew he was either overtired or had too much to drink when he thought he saw Connie walking with a man who looked like a piece of chalk dressed in a white jumpsuit. It couldn't be Connie. Whenever he ran into her at work, she wore somewhat conservative clothes. This woman had on a black dress that clung to all of her best parts and swayed around her legs enticingly when she walked. The shoes were so high he didn't know women actually wore them outside of the bedroom, much less walked on them in public.

Then again it might be her. Erik did say that she was in town for a couple of days. Before he could stop himself, he found himself dodging traffic to see who the mystery woman was. The couple passed through a doorway before he knew with certainty who they were.

Frederick followed a voice down a short hallway and found the couple standing in front of a minister.

"Is there anyone here who objects to this union?" the minister asked.

"I do. I object."

* * *

A/N: Thanks as always for the patience in getting Freddy moving. Next time, the alpha male appears - I swear it. Alf.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimers: blah, blah, blah ... you've heard them before - you know the drill

A/N: So, I like a bit of a twist ... shall we say I've included more than one this time around - but not too awful. The muse was kind and inspiring, but only if I left the twists in.

**Let's and Say We Didn't 08**  
**Frederick Rodriguez**  
**by Alfonsina**

_The tool felt foreign and heavy in Mary's hands. It had been forever since she'd done anything like this, but she was determined to do the job and do it right. She loosened her fingers around the base and tightened them a few times to get a better measure of the thing. _

"_Are you sure?" she asked Billy. "I'm not good at this and I'm more than a little out of practice."_

"_It'll be over before you know it and then we can do the things you really have in mind." He wrapped his fingers around her hand and gave a gentle squeeze._

"_We can't just skip this part?" She looked over her shoulder at him. "It'd be easier if I could look you in the eye."_

"_I'd just distract you and you'd close your eyes and then you'd never get it finished. Come on, take a firm grip and lean into it." His breath tickled her ear and neck sending shivers down her spine. _

"_I might break it." She looked at the item in her hand and was impressed by the size and weight of it. It didn't look that heavy until she manhandled it. Truthfully, it was impressive._

"_Not possible. I've had it and abused it for years. If I haven't hurt it, neither can you."_

"_No joking about this to your friends later, okay." Billy had had a reputation for telling stories out of school; this was one she just didn't want to get out. _

"_Sweetheart, you have my word of honor. You've watched me do this enough, you shouldn't have any problem doing it. Let's try again." He kissed her temple._

_After several fumbled attempts, Mary completed her task._

"_My wrist hurts," she whined. "I don't think I want to do it again for a while."_

"_Now do you understand why I want to buy a new drill for when I fix things around here?"_

"_Yeah, but you can use a screwdriver in a power outage." She tossed the old Phillips head screwdriver into the toolbox._

"_I can think of things that would be a lot more fun in the dark."_

~x~x~

Both Wayne and Connie whirled around to see a short, scrawny Elvis impersonator dressed in beige Chinos, a red Hawaiian shirt, and a lei stomp down the short aisle. Evidently Blue Hawaii Elvis had joined the party or was about to break it up.

"Shit, Marlene. You followed me?" Wayne asked as he whirled around to see who had objected. "I thought you were already in bed."

_Marlene? _

"Who is this?" Marlene glowered at Connie. "And what the hell do you think you're doing with him? He's already married."

"Come on, baby. Think of this as part of the Las Vegas experience," Wayne was walking in broad circles addressing the room. "Everybody wants a Vegas wedding. Easy to do. Easy to have undone."

"Dumbshit, you're already married to me: fifteen years, three kids, second mortgage, minivan. Does any of that sound familiar to you?" The tinny, nasal voice made Connie think about her mother and sisters; the sound gave her a headache. Marlene tugged on the back of the white cape until Wayne looked at her.

"Oh, yeah. Whoops."

Marlene clenched and unclenched her fists as she turned on Connie. "So you want the whole Vegas experience?"

"I can't afford any more experience for one night," Connie said.

Frederick Rodriguez had been quietly walking up the aisle so as not to draw any attention to himself. Right before Marlene took a swing at Connie, he pulled Connie back several feet. "Sweetheart, there you are. I've been looking everywhere for you."

Connie turned to face the voice. "Rodriguez? Is that you? What are you doing here?" The words slurred together.

"You remember, I'm here to embrace the whole Vegas experience with you, babe. I'm sorry I lost you earlier." He winked. "I've been told I'm the strangest one in my family, so if you want to marry a stranger, I'm your man."

"Ah-"

"That's okay. We can do it in Atlantic City when we get home." He put his arm around her shoulders and spoke into her ear. "Play along unless you want to be part of a girl fight. I've been told those are only fun if there's jell-o or mud involved. I'm sure you could wipe the floor with Blue Hawaii Elvis over there but it would ruin your manicure."

"Ah-"

"Can I have the pictures and the paperwork?" Frederick asked the minister. "It's for our Vegas scrapbook."

"It doesn't belong to you," the minister said. "It belongs to them."

"And she's part of _them _so you can feel confident in giving me the paperwork."

"But he hasn't paid for the wedding yet."

"Are you sure you want to charge for a wedding to a bigamist? One that didn't happen?"

"I don't care about the paperwork," Connie said. "I just want to go to bed."

"Sounds good to me." He retrieved the papers and photograph from the dais, folded them, and put them in his back pocket. "Let's go, sweetheart."

After they had exited the building, he asked her the name of her hotel. "The Luxor? Great. I'm there, too. It's only about two blocks away. Do I need to get a cab or can you walk that far in those shoes?"

Connie glared at him. "Of course I can." The words would have been more convincing if she hadn't gotten the heel stuck in a grate on the sidewalk. She jerked her foot succeeding only in freeing her foot from the shoe and almost toppling over.

Frederick righted her and bent to free the shoe. "You'd be safer barefoot than walking the rest of the way in these things. Pretty, but not practical."

She glared. "High heels are a birthright." She plucked the shoe from his hand and hobbled over to the light pole. Left hand around the pole, she bent over to put the shoe back on her foot.

"Not if you break your ankle," he said to himself.

"I heard that. How much further?"

"Still about two blocks. Do you want to take off your shoes and walk or do you want me to carry you?"

Connie never told anyone that her fantasy was to be carried a la Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind. Even her crummy ex-husband didn't carry her over the threshold on their wedding night. Just as well, he probably would have dropped her. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity and no one would ever be the wiser. Why not?

"Carry me?" She closed her eyes and hoped this would live up to her expectations.

"No problem."

Had she known he was going to carry her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, she would have divested herself of her shoes and staggered the rest of the way to the hotel. It was a jerky and uncomfortable ride, but it did garner her a very nice view of his ass.

"Pinch me again and I'll drop you and you'll have to walk the rest of the way under your own steam," Frederick said.

"Come on, just once more?"

"I'm serious."

"How about a little spank instead?"

"Sounds good." He took his time rubbing his hand over her bottom and before he gave it swat. "Thanks. That's much better."

"Hey!"

"You offered. Pinch me again and I'll give you another love tap."

"That one hurt."

"I could always kiss it and make it better."

~x~x~

"Girl, you look like hell," Lula said as she slid into the booth at the coffee shop. "Since you never came home last night, I hoped that you'd at least have a smile on your face this morning."

"I would smile if I knew what happened last night. Things are kind of fuzzy." Just like the inside of her mouth. "I don't think I could keep food down. All I want is coffee." And clarification.

"What do you remember?"

Connie slid a picture across the table. It was the crumpled picture of Connie and a poor quality Elvis impersonator standing in front of what appeared to be a wedding chapel.

"You remember doing this?"

"Not exactly. I remember the guy, sort of. And there was someone who showed up in a loud shirt. And for some reason, I think I saw somebody who looked Rodriguez from Trenton. But why would he be here? The next thing I knew I woke up alone in a strange room without my shoes." And there was a note about those lucky shoes: _I've got meetings, but will be here after seven if you want to get your shoes back._

"So you think you married this troll looking guy? Gives me the creeps just looking at him."

"I don't know. I don't remember much other than the fact that Elvis comes in all shapes and sizes." Connie put her head down on the table and closed her eyes. "I just want to go to bed."

"You should eat." Lula picked up the menu and reviewed the low carb choices. "I'm going to get two sides of ham, one of sausage, and some bacon."

"You should probably get something to balance out all that pork."

"Good point. I think I'll add a minute-steak to the order. Wait a minute. Your shoes?"

"Yeah. I couldn't find them." The fact she woke up face down in the middle of a kingsize bed wearing her underwear and a large t-shirt that wasn't hers was beside the point. "Since I lost my shirt at the crap tables, they must not be my lucky shoes anymore."

"Probably not."

* * *

_A/N: I apologize for the tawdry tidbit in the front. The muse made me do it. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing! Alf._


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: I own nothing and profit only by exercising my wittle-bitty pea brain._

_A/N: NANOWRIMO is coming up! NANO is National Novel Writing Month and is 'celebrated' during the month of November … 50,000 words in one month! Anyone else up for the challenge? PM me and I'll give you my ID over there! Can I do 50k in a month? Sure as long as it isn't edited, critiqued, or submitted for a contest!_

_The Muse was kind and wanted me to blurt this chapter … apologizes for inconsistencies, etc. I figure as long as Rudolpho was talking, I'd just go with it. Sadly, Ruldopho is addicted to schlock and falls in love quickly ... hence the tacky tidbit below._

**Let's and Say We Didn't 09**  
**Frederick Rodriguez**  
**by Alfonsina**

"_He loves me." Cece Devine beamed as she plucked the first petal from her daisy. "He loves me not." She frowned. "He loves me." Thank heaven she had two full bouquets of yellow daisies._

"_Oh, for heaven's sake. You're supposed to marry Marv in twenty minutes and you're just now wondering if he loves you?" Paulette, her mother, patted down the brown helmet of hair for the umpteenth time in an hour. "If he didn't love you, why would he want to marry you?"_

_Cece blew a stray curl from her forehead. "Easy. I won twenty-million dollars in the lottery six months ago." Marvin Anspach was the first financial advisor she found in the phone book the next day. They'd been dating ever since the check cleared and he opened brokerage accounts on her behalf._

"_You never told me that's when you started dating him." Cece was going to be heartbroken with half of her winnings or more before the ink was dry on the marriage license._

"_Why else would he look at me? I've never gotten over my first outbreak of acne when I was thirteen. I still have all of my baby-fat and then some. And I'm a book worm." Even her own family thought she was about as exciting as watching paint dry._

_And he looked like a sex god combined with a toothpaste advertisement. He'd been voted most eligible bachelor in the Midwest ten years running. _

"_Are you going to be OK when this is all over?" Her mother asked. "I mean the wedding."_

"_Sure you did." Cece said. "But that's all right. You love me." She plucked another petal from the daisy. "He loves me."_

"_I know it's too late to say this, but he loves your bank balance." Cece's mother knew he was in love with her bank balance; it was high enough to make even the most stalwart man swoon._

"_What he doesn't know is that I won a one-hundred million dollar lottery two weeks ago and I invested all of that money myself where he can never find it to touch it."_

_Cece bent her head back over her bouquet and plucked a petal. "He loves me."_

_~x~x~_

Five weeks later …

"Connie, are you okay?" Stephanie asked as she plopped herself on the office sofa. "You're looking a little green around the gills or else you bought some really bad foundation."

"Just an end of summer cold," Connie said as she plucked a tissue from the box on the corner of her desk. "It'll be over soon."

"Yeah, but you've had this for a couple of weeks, haven't you?"

"No, just a couple of days."

"Liar." Stephanie got up and examined coffee pot and realized it was as cold as if it hadn't even been turned on in the morning. "I quit coming in early to pick up files two weeks ago because you're always locked in the bathroom and I don't like dealing with Vinnie on an empty stomach."

"No one likes dealing with Vinnie on an empty stomach." Connie cracked open a can of ginger ale and sighed.

"Or a full one." If Stephanie rolled her eyes any higher, she would have seen heaven.

"Agreed."

"But the time you're spending in the bathroom in the mornings, it's just not normal."

"Stomach virus. Like I said, no big deal." Connie wasn't about to admit that she couldn't handle the smell of coffee, anything fatty, or fish. Any of those items had her bolting to the bathroom within seconds. She wouldn't even let Lula into the office with a bag of any kind from McDonald's. She could keep down plain rice, crackers, hot tea, and ginger ale, everything else had her in the bathroom within an hour.

"I'm going to take you to the doctor tomorrow if you don't look better." Stephanie looked at the credenza where there was usually a box of pastries, if not a package of Pepperidge Farm cookies. "I can understand no doughnuts, but no cookies either? What gives?"

"There's no reason to go to the doctor. It'll all clear up on its own in a couple more days." Connie crossed her fingers under her desk. "Lula ate all the cookies and she hasn't replaced them yet."

"If she doesn't go with you voluntarily, I'll call Harry," Vinnie screeched through his office door. "I know how much you'd like that."

"Why would Vinnie's father-in-law care if you're sick?" Stephanie asked.

"Despite the fact I've been divorced forever, Harry still sees himself as _my_ father-in-law. He's like my dad only more protective and he has ears everywhere. I got custody of Harry in the divorce," Connie said with a sigh. Franco, pig that he was, got freedom from his father's oversight. "Overall, it hasn't been too bad. If I can't get rid of someone, Harry makes them disappear. Poof."

"I hope you don't mean it the way it sounds," Stephanie said with a shudder.

"Why do you think I'm still married to Lucile? I don't intend to sell used cars in Scottsdale, Arizona any time soon," Vinnie's voice came through the speaker on Connie's desk phone. "If I have to put up with him, Connie does, too."

"Family. Ain't it grand?" Connie blew her nose. Again. "Excuse me." She rushed to the bathroom.

Vinnie's office door opened. He crossed the room to stand in front of Stephanie. "She hasn't been right since you've been back from Las Vegas. Take her to lunch and then to the doctor this afternoon."

"You're showing compassion?" Stephanie asked. "That's not like you."

"No. I'm protecting my own ass. Lucile and Harry both like Connie. If anything happens to her, I can kiss my ass and my business good-bye. If I kiss this place goodbye, you're out of a job, too." He opened his wallet and extracted two one-hundred dollar bills and passed them to Stephanie. "She'll quit retching in about an hour. Handle it before then."

~x~x~

"Let's just eat at my house. I made tortellini soup last night and I've got enough to feed a small army," Connie said as she opened her car door. "Plus I've got some spicy sausage you might like that's left from when I dated Peter."

"Which one was Peter?" Stephanie slid into the passenger seat. "You should probably put towels or something down on these seats. Leather might be nice, but it's dangerous in shorts or a skirt in August."

"Only one more month and we're into seat warming," Connie said. "Peter was the culinary student who spent all of his time perfecting his sausage."

"And just how was his sausage?" Stephanie waggled her eyebrows.

"I've had better." The ignition cranked over and Connie set the air conditioner to high. "I'm giving up men for a while."

"No, you can't do that. You're my idol. You've always got at least two guys you can have any time you want on speed dial."

Connie could have pointed out that Stephanie had two guys she could have any time she wanted on speed dial, too, if Stephanie wanted to deal with the complications or make a commitment. None of the guys on Connie's speed dial knew the first thing about commitment and it started to bother her in recent weeks. What did it say about her taste in men? What did it say about her?

~x~x~

"You know, we really don't need to see the doctor. I'm fine," Connie said as she dropped her purse on the kitchen counter.

"What about Harry?" Stephanie asked. "I don't want to get on his bad side. I saw him at your last potluck over Memorial Day. I've never seen anyone who looked any crankier other than my mother after the funeral home incident."

"His hemorrhoid was acting up," Connie said as she stuck her head in the refrigerator to pull out the pot of soup.

"That's either way too much information or Vinnie was in rare form."

"Lucille was out of town and he didn't think Harry knew he'd been in Atlantic City losing the quarterly profits."

"That explains why Vinnie wore sunglasses in the office for two weeks."

"Some people you just shouldn't piss off," Connie said with a shrug. "Sausage? Yes or no? I've got soda or water to drink."

"Water to drink and Peter's sausage sounds _interesting_." Stephanie made air quotes around the word sausage.

Connie foraged through the freezer and found the final _special package a la Peter_ of sausage. "I'm almost done with this stuff. Thank God." She was looking forward to being done with virtually all men. Maybe she should look into getting a small dog that would bite Vinnie's ankles, it wouldn't be too complicated.

"Are you full of bad puns today or what?"

"No. This is the end of Peter what'shisname's sausage. I'll have to start to buy some really good meat at the market."

Normally good Italian sausage cooking on her grill pan had an appealing smell. It was everything she'd been raised to think of as mouth watering. This wasn't a normal time. She could barely contain the nausea as she flew up the stairs to the bathroom.

"Con, are you going to be alright?" Stephanie called up the stairs after she heard the toilet flush and water run in the sink.

"Oh, sure. Fine." Connie knew in less than an hour, she'd be asked several questions, none of which she wanted to answer. It would really be better if she could get the answer for herself. In the cupboard beneath the sink, she had three pregnancy tests from different manufacturers. She'd accept the answer if two out of the three were the same and she'd move on with her life. Two nights ago, she went to a toy store and found a Magic 8 Ball; it told her, "Reply hazy, try again." Just what she wanted to hear.

Really. It would be ok.

She opened the packages and read all of the directions, several times over to make sure she did everything right.

Connie spent the next twenty minutes counting her blessings and evaluating her life. She was over thirty. She made a decent living. She was competent. She had plenty of family and friends to help out. She was strong.

When she read the final test, she burst into tears.

~x~x~

"We should have hired professional movers. It would have been faster," Caesar said. "Not that the guys can't move furniture, but they were pretty easily distracted. Five hours to unload one small moving truck is a little long. I could have done it by myself in half the time."

"No you couldn't. Every time you've moved, I've been the one who did the heavy lifting while you made sure there were plenty of cool drinks and suntan lotion." Frederick picked an olive off a cold piece of pizza. "We need to talk about division of labor in our future endeavors."

"Don't get your panties in a bunch." Caesar turned one of the folding chairs backward and faced it to the card table set up in the kitchen. "The trucks with the furniture for the living room and dining room are coming tomorrow afternoon. Pity the electronics were delivered today."

"You complain when anything imposes on either your time or money. Remember, slick, this was all your idea." He made like Vanna White on Wheel of Fortune indicating everything in plain sight. "No one made you buy leather sofas and club chairs."

"That doesn't excuse the guys from looking over the fence all afternoon instead of working. It shouldn't have been more than an hour's work unloading at the most."

"I think it had to do with the pool party that was next door."

"I wasn't distracted by it."

"No, you wouldn't have been." From what Frederick could tell by looking between the slats in the fence, it looked like a meeting of the 'Itsy-Bitsy-Teenie-Weenie Bikini Club.' There were six or seven women sunning themselves around the aboveground pool all afternoon drinking and laughing. It wouldn't have been so bad, but one of them was Connie. She was in the smallest green crocheted bikini he'd ever seen. Probably it wasn't legal in several states. Frederick hadn't realized all of the guys at the office seemed to know her pretty well, better than he did anyway. She was friendly with the group until she saw Frederick. Once she saw him, she went inside and came back out an hour later fully clothed.

"Next time, I'll move next door to some hot guy. Or maybe some hot guys. As long as they aren't husbands, it'll all be fine."

"I shouldn't have gone out of town again before I saw the place you had in mind. I trusted you." One week after Frederick came back from the Southwest trip, he spent ten days in the Southeast putting out fires at the larger accounts in Miami and Atlanta. He'd left all of the moving details up to Caesar. "Why didn't you tell me that you didn't want to move into a bigger apartment or a condo? Of all places, why did you choose the Burg?" When Frederick filled out the forms to change his mail, driver's license and voter's registration, he hadn't thought to preview the neighborhood. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind. He figured Caesar had upscale taste and the neighborhood would be upscale, too. God knew they were paying enough to rent half of an old duplex in a working class neighborhood.

"Easy. It's got a family feel to it. This place is near everything. There are great schools nearby. Pass me a beer, will you?"

Frederick pulled two bottles of Heineken from the refrigerator and uncapped them. "Why do you care about a family feel or schools?"

"I've been homesick?" Caesar held his hand out to receive his bottle.

"If you were homesick, you'd be thinking about relocating to the southwest and you'd call your mom more than once a month. You never lived in a two story house, much less a duplex. Did you look at this place before you signed the paperwork? I mean really look at it? The carpet is twenty years old if it's a day and the interior probably hasn't been painted in at least a decade. Try again."

"Fine. But you know, the landlord will let us do whatever upgrades we want to the house. According to the property manager, she just wanted it occupied."

"I'm not falling for the Tom Sawyer routine again. This time when you paint, I'll be sitting under the tree drinking lemonade while I point out places you missed." He took a swig of his beer. "Or, I'll be watching the big screen TV you just bought hanging out beneath the ceiling fan sipping on an adult beverage." He knew he'd be the one going to the paint store and running other errands, but it sounded good.

"You never get over anything, do you? The last time I did that, we were-"

Frederick raised his hand and said, "If you ask for my help, I help. When you deceive me, I don't move my ass anymore. Deal with it. Now, tell me the real reason you rented this place."

"Victor lives two streets over?" Caesar looked like he wanted to hide in the corner while looking proud of himself. At least the truth was out.

"Great. You want him to be jealous. He always thought we were more than friends."

"Yeah. Well. It's not like it's gonna be forever. The lease to own option on the place takes effect for another year." The hopeful look on Caesar's face was beyond disturbing.

"NO. Hell no. No way in hell. Not now. Not EVER." Frederick slammed the bottle on the kitchen counter. "I am NOT buying a house with you because the love of your life lives down the street."

"Two streets over."

"Whatever."

"Ok. So I haven't been telling you some things."

"No shit, Sherlock. Me either." An evil smile spread across Frederick's face. "I've been putting off telling you something, too. I've contracted Victor to do the electrical work for the next year on all Rangeman projects in the northeast. You'll be seeing a lot of him one way or another."

"Bastard."

"No, it was good business. He gave a reasonable bid for the work and it's all on contract for the bigger jobs. So I guess you'll be seeing more of each other than you might have planned."

"Maybe I should go back to doing surveillance work and evening takedowns."

"Maybe. But Ranger likes you on the installs with Hector. There are some high profile clients coming on in the next quarter."

"Great. Now I'm going to have to worry about Hector hitting on Victor in front of me?" Early in their relationship, Caesar had taught Victor just enough street Spanish to get into a huge amount of trouble. It was exactly the kind of trouble Hector would look forward to getting into.

"It isn't like you want him back, is it?"

"He won't want me back after Claude moves in next month."

"Claude? Who is Claude?" Frederick took the bottle from Caesar's hand and dumped the contents down the kitchen sink. "I'm not living in the love shack with you and whoever Claude is."

"It's not what you think."

"Of course not."

"Do you remember the movie _The Crying Game?"_

"Shit. You didn't."

"Not exactly."

"How not exactly?"

"Well, I'm not part of the IRA."

"Oh, Jesus. I don't even want to think about what you did, _Dil. Or should I say Fergus?_"

* * *

The Crying Game is a movie that made a big splash in 1992. Lots of themes covered – everything from race, gender, nationality, sexuality, and Irish troubles of the day. Shall we just say someone caught the other completely unaware?

Thanks as always for reading, reviewing, and being patient with Ruldolpho. Alf.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer with apologies to Herman and the Hermits, "I'm Henry the eighth I am. Henry the eighth I am, I am. I got married to the widow next door and she'd been married seven times before. Every one was a Henry. Never a Willy or a Sam. No Sam. I'm her eighth old man named Henry. Henry the eighth I am. Second Verse Same as the first." **

**Well that, my friends, is my disclaimer. I don't own diddle or squat, just the scribbles below.**

**A/N: This is my favorite tacky/tawdry tidbit. Some day it might be continued. Then again, maybe not.**

**Let's and Say We Didn't 10**  
**Frederick Rodriguez**  
**by Alfonsina**

"_Sold to Mac McKenzie for thirty-dollars." _

_The gavel slammed on the desk and the sound rang in Samantha's ears._

_Great. Just great. She'd been goaded into volunteering for this fiasco by her sister, Betsy, who been sold for fifteen-thousand dollars. At least the money was going to go to charity. The March of Dimes could use the money. Samantha would probably give them the fifty dollars she had in her wallet on her way out of the building._

_She was relieved she hadn't remained unsold. That had been her greatest fear. This was her second greatest fear; she'd been auctioned off for a weekend for two and got the lowest sales price on record. The record was forty years old!_

_Mac McKenzie, her boss and tormentor, bought her for less than she paid for his boss's day present last month. Next year his gift was going to come from the dollar store's discount bin._

_How much more perfect could her life get? He was over fifty, balding, and _married_. He had no reason to attend one of these things in the first place. She really hoped he didn't want a romantic weekend to go along with this. How would she ever face him come Monday? What would her next performance review look like? Oh, God._

_As she walked off the stage, she ran face first smack into the back of a man who was sex on a stick. Wavy blond hair, massive shoulders, high likelihood of a tight rear end._

_Samantha knew that back anywhere. Little Mackie McKenzie. He'd visited his father's office for years and had just graduated college. Seemed that 'little' no longer applied to Mackie. Not one single part of his scrumptious body._

"_Sammy, hey! So good to see you!" he said._

_Perfect. Could she just die right now? Somebody? Anybody? Please? At least she hadn't smeared too much of her lipstick on the back of his tux jacket. And the drool was hardly noticeable.  
_

"_Mac, how are you? Sorry about that. I didn't see you until I was on top of you." Ooh how she had wished that were true and in the biblical sense. Not that she was ever going to be on his radar, but she could dream._

"_No problem. I was going to ask them for your number. I wanted to set up our weekend."_

Our weekend. _She quit breathing. So what if she was six years older than he was? Who cared that she wasn't model thin or that her curves were a little on the overly generous side? It didn't matter that she couldn't see her hand in front of her face if she took off her glasses._

"_Yeah. I just started a business and I wanted to work on it this weekend and I knew you'd be perfect for the job. That's why I bid on you. You game?" He was indeed the only man who had bid on her._

"_Sure." A weekend alone with little Mackie might be the thing to help her change careers and have him see her in a new light. She might be doing some web design. Go through his marketing plans. She might be looking into strategic partnerships. She might …_

"_Cool. It's a junk hauling business and this weekend I've got a really rundown house on the other side of town to clear out before the city condemns it. It should be two or three dumpsters worth of stuff. Not counting the stuff we can salvage and send to some consignment places."_

"_Perfect." Welcome to romance._

"_I'm still shocked that I could get you so cheaply. I mean, by the time we're done this weekend, I won't even be out minimum wage." She figured he'd be paying about fifty-cents an hour by the time the weekend was over. He got one heck of a bargain._

_Perfect. As much as she wanted to give the March of Dimes her fifty to make up for her embarrassing shortfall, she knew she'd need it for a massage when this was all over._

~x~x~

Five times. Vinnie called Connie's cell phone five times in an hour to find out how she was. Had he been to the Indian casino in Connecticut again? How much money had he lost this time? How much would he pay her to keep her mouth shut?

"Good. You're alive." Vinnie said when she finally answered. "Anything I need to report to Harry?"

"I've got tests scheduled for tomorrow, so I won't be in until after lunch."

"What kind of tests?"

"As my employer, you can't ask me those kinds of questions." Not to mention it was none of his damn business.

"As your former brother-in-law I can."

"When pigs fly, Vinnie. I'll be in tomorrow after lunch." If she came in at all. Connie turned off her cell phone and shoved it into the deepest bowels of her purse.

"That went well," Stephanie said. "You're going to have to tell him some time."

"Not until all of the tests are in. No way. That piss-ant has the biggest mouth in the tri-state area."

"I'll go with you for the blood work and the ultrasounds," Stephanie said. "You might need some moral support."

"It's not like I've never had my blood drawn before and the ultrasound is never a big deal. They're just uncomfortably slimy."

"I'm here for you, no matter what." Stephanie tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm just glad I'm not in your shoes."

"I've got plenty of shoes to spare. Sure you don't want mine right now?" Connie asked. "Lifestyle change was bound to happen one way or the other."

"Yeah, but still. It's a shock." Stephanie used Connie as a barometer. A two year barometer. They had similar background and were close enough in age. If something like this had caught Connie this unaware, Stephanie knew she had plenty of lifestyle changes she could make in her own life. Maybe she should make an appointment with her own doctor. Then again, she could deny things as well as Connie, better even. Maybe her lifestyle would never cause her a moment of discomfort.

"Let's go to the beach."

"It's a crap day, Connie." The day was cloudy and miserable in Trenton and it probably wouldn't be much better at Point Pleasant. "I don't think there'll be any hotties at the beach today."

"Probably not. Even if we went to Sandy Hook, we would probably only see wrinkled old men." Sandy Hook was a sometimes nude beach that was less than a tank of gas away. When Vinnie was beyond annoying, Connie, Lula, and Stephanie had been known to go there and pick out men on the beach and imagine what clothes they'd look good in. So few of the beach goers looked good in nature's finest.

"That'd be enough to make you lose your lunch." Connie forced a smile. "Sorry, already done that."

"Well, if you're going to be okay on your own this afternoon, I think I'll go after Alexander Sweeny."

"His bond expires in three days. You've got time. He's old and slow. It takes him longer to unzip his fly than to tell you he's going to do it."

"Yeah, but he's wily for a ninety year-old. He put denture adhesive in my car locks and my ignition switch the last time I took him in. I had to take a cab to get him to the station."

"Al at the repair place must have had a good time with that."

"Yeah." Stephanie didn't want to admit that the only cuffs she could find for Alexander had been pink and fury from a weekend of adventure when she had while she was still a lingerie buyer. Then again, she hadn't had to put up with any slack at the PD; everyone thought she'd used them with Joe and gave him crap about it. He wouldn't talk to her for a week after that. Maybe she could use those again the next time she needed some emotional distance. At the station. Right. That's what she meant, she'd present those handcuffs at the police station and get distance from those she loved and get closer to those she didn't want to know all that well. Maybe she should just throw them away.

~x~x~

Late afternoon …

"I know you haven't moved all the way in yet," Cal Harrington said. "But I'd really like to thank you for doing this for me . I know it's kind of a rush. But Slick and I want to check out Hell Fire before Delores's family gets here." The new/old biker bar in town. New in that management was new and the clientele had been cleaned up some, everything else about it was well worn.

He pulled out one of the folding chairs at the little card table and gawked at the still life before him. The table was covered with bottles, boxes, bowls, brushes, and a halogen work lamp. The whole thing reminded him of when he was a kid and his mom used to highlight his sisters' hair before special occasions. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Again. If he ever made up his mind, he'd go to a tattoo shop and have some permanent art put on his body. Until then, every few weeks, he'd bug Frederick to do something for him.

"Cal, did you remember to exfoliate before you came over?" Frederick asked as he opened the box of henna powder and dumped it into a small glass bowl.

"Yep, I used that stuff you sold me last month. My skin's never felt better. Oh, and I shaved about an hour ago," Cal said. He ran his left hand over his scalp still adjusting to the smooth skin. Until he panicked about premature balding and shaved his head two months ago, Cal had had a thick head reddish blond hair. "I had my brother make a stencil of the design I want this time. Not that you don't freehand some great stuff, but I really know what I want this time."

"That's fine. So what are we doing? And where are we doing it?"

Cal passed Frederick a stencil of a coiled snake. "This. And I was serious about putting it on my forehead. Can you refresh the sunburst on my bicep when you're finished?"

"Whatever makes you happy, man. Just tell me why you want to mark your face? Been watching the National Geographic Channel again?"

"Easy. I got tired of high maintenance women who wouldn't hang with me unless I was up to their _standards_. I finally found one who likes me for me, but now her family is coming to town and I want them to leave me alone. Delores says she loves me even though I look too much like Mr. Clean."

"This is your litmus test?" Frederick asked pointing at the snake stencil. "Fake tattoos?"

"Sure. They wear off in a couple of weeks. It's not that big a deal."

"If you like it, are you going to make it permanent?"

"Hell no," Cal said with a shudder. "I'm afraid of needles. No woman is worth the expense and pain of a tattoo. I don't think I want to do something for a woman I might want to marry, but we're not to that stage yet. Besides, if you think about it, how am I going to look in the nursing home with some lame-ass tattoo on my forehead? It wouldn't be pretty. Now a picture of my grandma on my shoulder looking over me might be a different story. Maybe. But I'd have to be heavily medicated in order to do it."

"As long as you're happy. But the next time, you're paying for beer and pizza." Frederick snapped on a pair of latex gloves. "Let's do this."

"Do you have to wear those things? It reminds me of getting checked for a hernia."

"I don't relish the idea of staining my hands with this stuff," Frederick said. "It's not like I'm asking you to drop your pants, turn your head and cough. Now if Caesar were here, I'm sure he'd volunteer to do it if you asked nicely."

"Pass."

"Good. Now sit and rest your face in your palm and get comfortable."

"Can you do the sunburst on my arm first first? I want to ask you something and I don't want you to mess up the art."

"No problem. Take off your shirt, I don't want to stain it."

After Cal had no more than lifted the shirt over his head, the door flung open.

"Lucy, I'm home," Caesar called. "Before I head out to Bun Huggers and Friction, I just wanted to drop off some-" He ran his finger around the neck of his shirt and said, "Sorry."

"Just doing a touch up for Cal," Frederick said. "Do you want him to stay or go, Cal?"

"Doesn't matter. Hey, JC." Cal tilted his head toward Caesar as he pulled his t-shirt off his arms.

"What are you doing here?" Frederick asked.

"Never mind. I'm interrupting. I'll go." Caesar was looking more and more uncomfortable. "We need to talk about Claude. Maybe tomorrow over lunch?"

"I've got a Rotary meeting during lunch. I still have to check out that gym before I make the presentation in a couple of days. We can workout and talk before work."

"Do they have a steam room?" Caesar asked.

"How would I know?" Frederick said.

"You are beyond boring, but I'll go with you and we can carpool," Caesar said.

"If you're that worried about the steam room, we'll take separate cars. Meet me there at six-thirty."

"Is this the new gym about two miles from the office?" Cal asked.

"Yeah," Frederick said. "They are trying to revitalize the neighborhood so the owners bought the land cheap, but they need security for their clients when they leave."

"No steam room," Cal said.

Frederick swabbed the old sunburst with alcohol and fanned it dry. He dipped the paintbrush into the bowl and said, "Hold still."

"And how do you know?" Caesar asked.

"My brother-in-law was the contractor." Cal fidgeted. "That shit tickles. I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

"You're the one who doesn't want a real tattoo. Suck it up and sit still," Frederick said.

"Fine." Cal sat up, rolled his shoulders and sighed before he returned to his position.

"I was going to call over for subs tonight. Anyone else want to place an order? CJ you want to pick up? We'll be here a while until it dries."

"I'll buy. It's the least I owe you." Call reached for his wallet and produced a fifty. "See if they have any of those salads with the cranberries and apple chunks and the special vinaigrette. Oh and a small diet soda. If they do, I'll have that."

"If not?" Caesar asked.

"If not, I'll have three half-pound burgers, two orders of onion rings and large strawberry shake. I'm watching my waistline."

~x~x~

That same night …

"I was going to tell you over the phone. When you went on your next trip out of town." Caesar said as the last of the moving boxes had been broken down. "We should probably put these over by the garage."

"Spit it out. I want to know about Claude and I want to know now," Frederick said.

"He's my son. Or he will be when he's born in a couple of weeks."

"A baby? You're going to have a baby?" As Frederick shook his head all of the color drained from his face. "You're sure?"

"Pretty much. Signs are all there. You'd be a fool not to know or notice. Everyone else has figured it out."

"Then call me a fool. I had no idea." Frederick let out a long sigh as he ripped a box in half. "So now what?"

"You've been out of town a lot and I haven't known how to broach it. Hey, you owe me money for that box. I had to pay for that one."

"Forget about the damn box. Tell me about the baby."

Caesar said, "I really wish I told you this over the phone, it would have been so much easier."

"For you maybe. Not for me. Out with it, now. Who's the mother?"

"You remember Sharon Papas?" Caesar shrugged.

"How, exactly did you hook up with Sharon Papas?" Frederick asked. "We dated briefly a year ago. She was a nice girl." Sharon pushed for a commitment and kids before the third date, Frederick was ready for marriage but wanted to know little things like her favorite color and her birthday before he married her. He was looking for courtship and a little romance before the plunge. At the time, she wanted instant gratification and a gold band.

"It was all very casual. Mutual friends and all of that." He pushed the lid down on the garbage can.

"That's when we started hanging out watching old movies late at night. She loved the Crying Game especially the part where Fergus doesn't realize Dil's a guy until after he gets a blow-"

"You knew she was female."

"Yeah, but I had no idea a woman could give such spectacular head. I mean, I felt like the top of my-"

"Way too much information."

"Anyway, one night months ago, we both had too much to drink and she said she wanted to convert me. After six or seven beers, I thought she meant she wanted me to become Buddhist* like her. She said she chanted a lot about it, me and the law of cause and effect."

"I take it that wasn't what she meant?"

"Definitely not. Living life through beer goggles sometimes sucks and so does Sharon."

"Keep going. I'd like to start my own life before I have to potty train your kid."

"Okay. A couple of months later, she told me she was pregnant and she knew she couldn't raise the kid on her own. She had plans that didn't include a baby."

Frederick looked at his watch. "Can you get to the point before all of my hair goes grey, I lose my hearing, and I die of old age?"

"Fine. She said she doesn't want to put her life on hold for a baby. But she wants to know who will raise it and at least expose the kid to the SGI*."

"What about open adoption? You could both know who was raising _him?_ You did say it's a boy, right?"

"It's a boy. How can I not want to raise my own son?"

"That's what broke you and Victor up. He was ready and you weren't. Now you suddenly are?"

"Yeah, but I can't do it alone. I burned my bridges with Victor when I told him we couldn't be a family. Rver."

"Fifty cents for a condom could have saved you from a lot of heartache," Frederick said. "Not to mention all of the changes that are coming down the pipeline now."

"That's where you come in. I want you to help me raise Claude."

"Seriously? Claude? Why are you naming him Claude? What about Sharon? And why do I want to raise your child? You are mostly a kid yourself."

"Her dream is to be part of the Peace Corps. She committed to it before, well before." Caesar looked a little sheepish. "She'll be leaving in about three months and doesn't plan to come home for a couple of years. A baby really wasn't part of her life plan. At least not right now."

"So she's just leaving? Is she going to give up parental rights?" Frederick ran his fingers through his hair. The last thing he could imagine was giving up a child he'd helped bring into the world. If he knew he'd fathered a baby, he wouldn't care what the relationship was like with the mother. He'd be there for his kid in every way possible. Period.

"Yeah. I've been to the attorney with her. It's what she wants. And I think it is what I want. I just don't want to do this alone." Whining was not a good look on Caesar and was losing him his case.

"And you expect me to jump in and help?"

"I really need your help. I can't do this alone and I'm not moving to New Mexico to have my mom help me out. Hell, I don't even know how to change a diaper. Please?"

"No. No way. Absolutely not. This is not my problem or my responsibility." A few hours ago Frederick couldn't believe when Caesar had so willingly volunteered to do the updating on the rental while expecting _nothing_ in exchange, only to find out what the true price was really going to be. Shit.

"Please? You already do the baby thing, right? I mean the guys don't want to hire babysitters anymore if they know you can watch their kids on Boys' Night Out."

"Haven't you realized that Boys' Night is only a few hours once a month? This is a lifetime commitment."

"Tell me something else I don't know."

"Sure. Claude is Sharon's dad's name. He died of cancer a couple of years ago. She wanted his name would live on through her." Caesar broke down another box. "I already told her I'd raise it and she can have visitation whenever she wants it."

"But you said you didn't want to have a family."

"I've changed my mind. I didn't think I wanted it and now I realize just how much I do."

"Perfect. That's why we've living in a three bedroom house in a family oriented neighborhood. So you can start your family?"

"I'm gonna need help and you're great with babies."

"I'm going out for a drive. A very long drive. I'm going to look for a new place to live." Frederick stormed toward his car.

"I'm sorry."

"Bullshit." Frederick whirled around to look at Caesar. "I'm not going to be the father to the baby of a one nightstand that is only vaguely remembered through beer goggles because someone couldn't be bothered to use a condom." He yelled the words so loudly they could probably have been heard two counties over.

* * *

*SGI-USA is a lay Buddhist organization in the United States. SGI-USA (.) ORG

The origins of the SGI-USA worldview can be traced to the teachings of the historical Shakyamuni Buddha, who lived some 2,500 years ago in what is modern-day Nepal. Born Gautama Siddhartha, he abandoned his sheltered, princely life and sought instead to understand the inescapable sufferings of every human being — birth, aging, sickness and death — and the means by which these sufferings could be overcome. The term _Buddha_, or "enlightened one," is applied to any human being who realizes the eternity of life and the operation of cause and effect throughout the three existences of past, present and future.

* * *

A/N: Unlike other pieces, we won't spend a lot of time/energy/emotion on the SGI - but it will be a minor background in the piece.

Thanks as always for reading/reviewing/and hanging out with Freddy ... he's not a bad guy and he's developing a backbone. Alf.


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